If home is where the heart is, build me a home in your arms. Make the walls out of your smile and the roof will be your eyes. The sound of the doorbell is the sound of you saying "I miss you darling." The furniture is as comfortable as your hugs. The only downfall is that this home is currently twenty seven miles away.

July 11th, 2014. I saw you.

I mustered up the nerve to talk to you. I didn't think I'd ever see you again.

July 19th, 2014. Well, I saw you again.

And you knew who I was. My heart skipped maybe 10 beats when I heard you say "Yeah, I remember you!"

November 23, 2014. I was the one who purposely saw you.

We had somewhat kept in touch, even though I desired more than just "keeping in touch." You made me feel alive.

January 18th, 2015. Most likely the last time I could say that I saw you.

We didn't talk, but you looking me right in the eyes and smiling, that made up for it.

February 2015. You said "I miss you, darling."

March 2015. You said "Your voice sounds beautiful, darling."

"Make me happy, darling."

"You should be happy I'm talking to you, darling."

"It makes me sad when you don't do what I want, darling."

April 2015. Silence. I couldn't tell if the guilt you made me feel made me miss you more or less.

May 2015.  Exposed. I was a victim of your mind games. I wasn't the only one. Someone broke the silence that broke your success.

May 2015. You say "I'm embarrassed."

I say "so am I."

whenever I try to write poetry, I have a tendency to make things more minuscule than they really are.

I don't let my true colors show in fear that someone may notice how I really am feeling.

Because I like to convince myself that I'm fine. I convince myself that I'm better than I was two years ago.

And maybe I am. Maybe this is as happy as I'm going to get. That is, if happiness means having anxiety attacks at parties or crying over the small flaws of my day.


Happiness might also be letting people use me and reject me. If that's what happiness is, then I'm over the moon.

Face the facts. I'm talking to you. And me. And everyone in between.

Broken.

Notice I didn't say "I'm broken." Or "you're broken." Or "we're broken."

That's because it's for you to decide. You have to be true to yourself.

Broken.

I get nostalgic over photographs and my baby shoes, but I don't know how to compare that to how much I'm missing you.

But the thing is you're living your life, meeting new people. And to you, I'm just another fading photograph or shoe that you grew out of.

It ***** knowing that I somehow always get what I want, but only for a short period of time.

I wanted to get close to you, truly know who you are. And I did, but only for a while. Now I don't know if I ever cross your mind and make you smile.

In fact, I don't know if I ever cross your mind at all. But the amount of times you cross mine makes up for it.

You're a big part of my past, future, and obviously present

And as I look through our pictures, I'm feeling reminiscent.

I remember the first time we met, and trust me when I say this,

Meeting you is something I will never regret, this I promise.

But I miss you more and more each day as the distance grows even stronger

I need you back in my life, I can't do this alone any longer.

Our stupid jokes, our "pet names," even our heart-to-hearts.

I'm seeing you less and less, and I'm falling apart.

It doesn't have to be this way, we both know it's true.

But no matter how much tension or distance there is between us,

I will always love you.

And yes, I miss you.

I say "I'm sorry" as if it's a bandage for all the damage I've caused.

Whether that damage be to myself or others.

So I just want to say this.

I'm sorry for the saddening texts at midnight when I'm sitting and reminiscing. I'm sorry for stumbling upon words or stuttering in my sentences when I talk. I'm sorry for speaking silently when I see you, because ****, I'm just so stubborn on the idea of sending messages through a screen. I'm sorry that it's going to be a sticky situation when we see each other for what might be the last time. I'm sorry for even saying all of this. And just remember, once you graduate and you're out of this ****** school in the heart of this ****** town, I'm going to miss you. And I'm sorry for that too.

When I was little, I had a big fear of stages. I was afraid of falling off of them.

When I was little, I also had my first dance recital. That's the day I realized that the stage is my friend.

I got a little bit older, but I was still young enough to watch Disney channel. This was the era of movies filled with song and dance. My role model was Miley Cyrus, and she was the one who made me think, "I want to become an actress."

Fast forward a few years. Middle school. I had the lead role in all the school plays I was a part of. I had never done a musical. I admired them, but I didn't have the guts.

But, I had to keep in mind, "the stage is my friend."

And I realized that right away as I did my first ever musical when I was in 7th grade.

I've never smiled as big as I do when I see hundreds of faces all smiling and cheering for us performers. Never have I heard someone say, "musicals make me miserable."

The opening night of my first official musical in high school, I had a little girl come up to me, big smile on her face, asking me to sign her program.

I didn't get the chance to tell her it, but kid, if you happen to see this one day, just remember.

The stage is your friend.

I lay in bed with writers block.
I don't know what to do when I can't write. I don't know what to do.

I lay in bed with writers block, and I down another sleeping pill. what to do when I can't sleep. I don't know what to do.

I lay on bed with writers block, loopy from the sleeping pills, and I think of the way our skin touched when we first met. I don't know what to do without you. I don't know what to do.

I lay in bed with writers block, loopy from the sleeping pills, thinking of the way our skin touched when we first met, and I feel a warm tear run down my cheek. Warm like the hug we exchanged. I don't know what to do when I miss you. I don't know what to do.

I lay in bed with writers block, loopy from the sleeping pills, thinking of the way our skin touched when we first met, a river of warm tears flowing my tear ducts, like having multiple warm hugs on my cheek, and I think about how you inspire me. I don't know what to do when you're my muse, except write about you.

the thought of you keeps me up at night, and lately I've been pulling a whole lot of all-nighters. You make me warm inside, and lately there's been a heat wave inside of me. You get stuck in my memory, and lately all what I know is the sound of your hellos. You're my favorite record, and lately I've been listening to it all the time. I can go on forever comparing you to objects and telling you how you make me feel, but I'd hope that you'd already know.

You tend to treat the ones you admire like silver,

The ones you desire like gold,

Yet the ones you claim to love, you treat them like scrap metal.

the birds are yelling rather than chirping, almost mocking me.
every time I try to close my eyes, it's like ever inch of energy in my body wants to pull my eyelids back open.
each attempt to sleep is just a long blink.
there's a point in time in the middle of the night where you just think to yourself
"why?"
why in gods name am I awake, most importantly,
but why do my emotions do an intricate ballet dance of grand jetes and pirouettes as the sun rises?
why can't I tell the difference between buzzing from the coffee I mistakingly had at 8pm last night and trembling in fear?
why was I born where I was?
why have I met who I have met?
why is the human brain so incredible yet so ****** up at the same time?
whenever the world gets to me I shut down.
oxygen turns into anesthesia and my bedroom turns into an icebox. all I can feel is nothing.
a grey-blue leaks through the cracks of my  blinds, but my tired eyes register it as fluorescent. the only color in my life right now.
the world is grey but the sky is a blinking neon sign, reading "now open: Alexa's never ending emotions."
I read some fact online saying that a single file line of the Chinese population would never truly end.
I'm laying in bed, counting Chinese sheep.

How come I stayed up at night writing poems about you?

How come I was so oblivious?

How come I'm so paranoid that you're going to come back to haunt me?

How come this keeps happening to me?

How come, with every ******* text message you sent my naive self, I didn't realize that I'm so **** vulnerable?

How come you claim to be straight edge, but with every word you said you got me so drunk?

And how come every word you said gave me such a bad hangover, and a bit of realization?

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

Me sitting in bed, wishing that I had someone else breathing the same air as me in attempt to feel a little less lonely.

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

You giving me the cold shoulder. Well that shoulder is so cold that I'm shivering and ******* it you're about to start another ice age.

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

A teenager with my most prized possesion being the months that I've been clean, and my biggest flaw being the amount of friends I have lost in those months.
At least five, and at least five.

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

Me ending every conversation with "I'm sorry," in attempt to try and clean up the messes I've made.

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

The ghost of a little girl who was raised with the mindset of "everyone is kind in some way." But is that true?

I couldn't imagine life ending up like this.

But now, since this has become my life, I don't know any other.  And I'm scared.

It's the middle of the night and all I can think about is how disappointed I am in myself. I haven't felt this broken and miserable in such a long time.

Or maybe I've been feeling this way forever and I've just been denying it.

Face it, every meltdown at therapy, every time I felt like a misfit leaving the psychologist office, every "calm down Alexa" I've said to myself--it's all proof.

Or maybe it's just a couple bad days here and there.

But then again, that's what I used to tell myself when I truly was hurting. Even though that's like looking at a stab wound and saying "it's just a paper cut."

If bad days are paper cuts, then I have too many **** paper cuts and not enough bandages.

there are nights where I feel on top of the world,
and there are nights where I feel like I'm sinking to rock bottom.

nowadays I usually deal with the ladder and I can't find a latter to climb back to the top.

I know I should **** it up.
people leave.
people forget.
people who make your eyes illuminate don't bat an eye at the sound of your name.
it's all the same.

I don't know why I keep coming back.
back to the same thoughts.
back to the same people.
back to the same bed at night, a Petri dish for horrendous thoughts to grow and multiply.

I know it's just another bad night; another night of wondering if things will change in the 5 hours of tainted sleep I'll get.
but what's it going to take to claw my way back up to feeling at least content?

we could make people cloudy with confusion yet emerald with envy.

and that's what I love.

it seems so taboo at first glance.
but if you dig through the dirt on the surface then you'll find what hasn't been found in years;

my happiness.

I never try to let a single person determine my happiness but ******* it you're all what fits in the key hole of my personality.

and because of you I've opened up and determined what falling in love truly is to me. neither Webster dictionary or a google search could even define it until I met you.

this all sounds like some sort of cheesy passage from a Nicholas Sparks or John green book that we'd both laugh over, but love makes people do out of the ordinary things.

to me, falling in love is when you become so utterly intoxicated by how happy somebody makes you that your whole life is changed for the better. you're hard liquor, and you know how much I love things I'm not supposed to have.

When I was nine years old, I didn't think that I'd be making a life changing desicion.

When I was nine years old, I didn't think I'd meet life changing people because of this life changing desicion.

When I was nine years old, I didn't think that three people could give me the strength to pull me out of rock bottom in years to come.

When I was nine years old, I didn't think that three people could make me who I am today.

I've never felt like I belong.

Whenever a sense of hope comes along that makes me feel accepted or befriended, it burns up, leaving behind the ashes for me to clean up. It leaves me wondering, "where did I go wrong?"

I'll sit on the couch at parties, hoping for that one person to notice the underdog and maybe try to make conversation. I expect people to bandage up my feelings, but these people I interact with, they aren't my nurses.

When people ask who my best friend is, I wonder if it'd be an acceptable answer if I said myself.

But I find myself at midnight, staring at the ceiling, mind full of regret, wondering, "what did I do to make these people shut me out?"

"Where did I go wrong?"

My birthday is in 33 days and I already know that when I blow out my candles I'm wishing for you.

It's 5 minutes past 11:11 but I'm still wishing for you.

I have no spare change right now, but the next time I pass a fountain you bet your bottom dollar I'll find whatever change I have, throw it in, and I'll be wishing for you.

I don't know whether or not those are shooting stars that I've been wishing on, but either way I'm still wishing for you.

There aren't any dandelions in bloom, but if there were, I'd blow all the seeds off and I'd be wishing for you.

Because that's all I can ask for. You.

I really don't understand how I felt the first time I saw you.

Don't you get it though? Now you're on my mind like a scar.

Have you a single clue as to why I follow you around like a lost puppy?

The thought of us is the thing that helps me tolerate the idea of love.

Time will only tell whether or not you feel the same way about me.

To think that just a few months ago, we had never spoken a word to each other.

Be aware though, that if we do hit it off, I'm not perfect. Ask anyone.

Falling for people is easy for me, but it's not easy trying to predict how other people feel.

For just a day, I want you to really get to know me. Figure me out.

You are the reason I can't sleep at night.

tomorrow I'll have to see you again

and act like what you've said didn't leave wounds with scar tissue pinker than my cheeks when our eyes meet

I'll act like I didn't go on a drunken rant tonight alone in my living room about how you make me feel like love will never reach me

I'll act like I never do look forward to seeing your face everyday, and felt like Im missing something when I don't

oh, let's be as blunt as you are,

I'll act like I'm trying not to impress you anymore.

you act so humble and meek, despite being ~fearless~ enough to speak your mind to me

you act like neither my body or mind is captivating, and this isn't arrogance, just me finding the confidence in attempt to shield myself from your ignorance

you act as if it's no big deal that I'm one of your only female friends who doesn't put on a show for every guy she meets, full of anything but genuine theatrics

I keep that **** on the stage, where it belongs for both of us.

I mean, acting is what we both do best, right?

I haven't even been there yet, but I know that my favorite location is in your arms.

Just thinking about being there, in your tight, warm imbrace, makes me smile.

Think about it, you're the sunshine peaking through my clouds. And I haven't even met you.

You are so full of positive vibes, and that's what I truly need right now.

Are you ever going to know how I feel when I think of you? No, because I can't put it into words.

So if I do one day get to tell you hello, I'll try my best to sum up for you how happy you make me.

Amazing, one person can impact millions of lives, including mine.