My anger with you,
Roots from my utter disappointment
In the spineless little squid
You've become.

You're a coward.
I'd call you a monster,
But you're just a bottom feeder.

You're not better than the shrimp
I shred to consume
So I can continue living.

You don't matter.
You did once,
You were good once,
You were kind once
Your heart and soul were pure,
ONCE.

But today all the promises
And hopes you gave,
Were lies,
And destroyed lives
And I hope you feel guilty.
I hope you feel regret.

Because I may forgive you,
But I'll never forget what you did to me.
You
Won't
Live
This
Down.

You stole my heart.
You had a grasp on it a long time ago,
I'm sure you were familiar with parts of it,
Even though now it's scarred up and bruised
And has a few pieces that don't fit quite right anymore.

You stole my heart,
Within a smile and a laugh,
And I was pretty sure you took it
That Saturday when I asked for a hug,
And you gladly obliged,
Because when I walked back to my parent's condo,
I was walking on air,
My head was so far up in the clouds
That I swear I could see the stars
That made up your favorite constellation.

You stole my heart,
Upon glances you thought were stolen
By the fire,
And warmth and kindness within your voice,
And understanding from your tone
Melting down my walls and my fear.

You stole my heart,
When you taught me how to play chess,
And I ultimately failed,
But I revealed that I cared this way,
That same night.

You still stole my heart,
When you held me,
Touching my hands,
My shoulders,
My sides,
When I was afraid of your touch not by fault of your own,
But not afraid of you.
When you reminded me that you're here to stay,
That you're not them,
That you won't hurt me like that,
That you won't hurt me at all.

You stole my heart,
By making me laugh,
By understanding my tears,
By being honest
And caring
And careful.

You stole my heart,
So I took your last name.

Paying attention
to your heartbeat
and your breathing
feeling your warmth
bleed through your shirt
and onto my skin.

and I can feel myself
shivering
because warmth is leaving my body
to make room for my wanting of you
because there's so much of it constantly
coursing through me.

and if I am
to be good
and if I am
to be strong
I must come to terms
with the fact
that there will be times
where you are gone
and it will hurt
and strike fear in me
in all kinds of ways
but i will be okay,
as long as you always
come home to me.

A life of paper stars,
Folded down into pages torn from notebooks,
Bent and creased into paper planes.

Let the wind take off,
And let them go,
Disappear into the sky.

I hope you find
Each word I wrote for you,
Because I'm letting them go,
Letting them go
So they may find you.

So maybe I'll drift
Off into a better sleep
When my words reach your heart,
And my heart grows whole
By touching your soul.

She paced back and forth,
The three inch block heels of her scuffed black boots
Clacking against the unfinished hardwood floor.

Some would say that she looked distraught.
Others would call it confidence, or "walking with a purpose."

But they never looked at her eyes.

Almond shaped and wide, fluttering and glossing across every detail of the room repeatedly,
Until she had it memorized.
Her usually, sunset-esque, yellowy-oak colored eyes scanned the room. She looked out from beneath thick, long black eyelashes. Her iris's glistened black.

No amber streaks.
No red accents.
No infatuated gold.
No comforting, warm, oak brown.

Her eyes were black.
Dark.
Cold.
Hungry.

Like a predator.

Her shoulders tensed and she began to slow her pacing,
Her steps slowly becoming lighter and lighter,
Until they could not be heard
Aside from the soft beat of vibrational frequency through the floorboards.

She finished scanning the room,
Shifting her eyes from every exit or entrance or place to hide and cower,
Taking note of it all.

Her eyes focused, her pacing coming to a sudden and abrupt stop.
Her body became rigid.
Every elegant curve and smooth, soft
Length of utterly feminine and maternal skin she had
Suddenly became very, very sharp.
Rough.
Dangerous.

Her stance was similar to that of a defensive wildcat.
Tail low.
Hackles raised.
Claws unsheathed.
Lips curling ever so subtly
That at any moment her canines could press and sink into her prey's
Soft flesh,
And draw blood.

Her eyes locked on her prey.

All talking in the slightly crowded, dimly lit, room came to a sudden halt.
A cold chill blew through the room.
The hair along the necks of each and every guest stood on end.
Even as humans,
Who are so very proud of not relying on instinct,
Understood what this meant.

Danger.

She was still, rigid.
You could not see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

There was no noise,
Aside from the faint bassline from the speakers.

Judging by the voice spitting out lyrics,
She guessed the song was either by The Offspring, or maybe Say Anything.

One guest flipped off the speakers.

The buzz of static.
Then the buzz of a moth flying repeatedly into one of the faded lightbulbs.
Then, silence.

They stared at her,
But she did not see them.
Her eyes remained focused,
Trained on her slowly-growing-more-nervous-each-passing-second prey.

There was a low, guttural growl rumbling from her throat.

Her prey looked up.

Their eyes locked.

Before the other girl could make out a single syllable,
She pulled her lips back into a snarl.

"How dare you?"

The prey only blinked in response.

"Who do you think you are?"

The prey furrowed her eyebrows, trying to play dumb.

"Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?!" She coiled her muscles like a spring. Her body pulled tight together.

"What?"

"He meant nothing to you." She pounced into the crowd, slamming into her prey. A flurry of black and white.

"And you mean nothing to me."

She sunk her long, pointed teeth and sharp molars into the flesh of her prey's throat.

Vile blood filled her mouth.
Pushing past the urge to gag,
She bit down harder.

Then,
She heard a cracking noise.
And then, a snap.

She stood,
Dropping her prey's limp body onto the floor
As she unclenched her jaw and opened her mouth.

The girl dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

The predator opened her mouth,
Feeling the toxic, bitter blood dribble out her mouth and drip from her lips and chin.

The crowd of people were panicked.

They looked like they were screaming.

She could not hear them.

She looked ahead and stared into the mirrors along the wall.

Her hair was black and matted and wild. A mane of knotted kitten fur and hummingbird feathers.
Her eyes were black, dark as midnight. No light reflected in, no emotion shined out. The whites of her eyes were just barely visible.

Her skin was pale, so white it was an almost sickly yellow-grey. She could see the veins beneath her cold, unfeeling complexion.
Her lips were red. With blood. Hers and that of her prey.
Her fingers were longer, mangled into claws.
She stood hunched, ready to attack at any moment.

Her face was twisted and contorted into a snarling look of pain.

She hated when she got like this.
When she lost all her humanity,
In order to serve her righteous cause,
Whatever it maybe at the time.

But there were certain sacrifices you need to make for the people you love.

And if it meant protecting them,
If it meant their happiness,
If it meant their comfort,
She would give it all.

Her whole heart.

Her whole soul.

I keep seeing things
Quotes
About how you should be with someone
Who is terrified to lose you.

And maybe it's right.

But if you think I'm going anywhere,
Or letting you go anywhere,
You can ******* fight me,
And **** it, I'll win.

I'm just angry,
I'm just sad,
I'll get over it.

But I am yours,
And you are mine.

And nothing will change that.

I fell in love with you
The way baby birds learn to fly.
I took the risk, anxiously and terrified,
And jumped
And I soared.

I fell in love with you
The way a hurricane rains.
Slowly, slowly, surely, and then suddenly all at once and everywhere and so much that you can't even hear yourself think.

I fell in love with you
The way a wild animal learns to trust.
Sporadically and fearfully, and then wholly and entirely.

I fell in love with you,
And I will forever be loving you.

I am red with determination.
I refuse to let the darkness,
As I spiral farther into madness,
Consume me whole.

If it may consume me,
It'll at least be stuck with
One hell of a fight.

I am blue with steady hands, steady voice.
I am not one to give in,
And if I've made it this far,
I can make it farther.

I am green like the grass,
Green like the trees,
Green like flowers that haven't blossomed yet.

I am lively,
I am strong.
I will not allow
Myself to crumble.

I have come too far
Not to go farther.

You were blazing
Burning
Lightning,
Pushing yourself too far,
And it was worth it every time.

I was the stars
In a night
That already had too much light
For me to be seen,
Getting lost in the pull
To recede back into what I was.

But you found me
You found me.

You reach out your hand,
Despite your fear,
Despite your pain,
Despite all the hurt that you know.

I did not extend my arm so that my fingers could graze yours.

Instead, I only stared as my sunset eyes
Took on the color
Of the dark, airless vacuum around me.

But I saw your lightning, as your tears drifted toward me.
As your Earth's gravitational pull ****** you back down into your atmosphere.

But you fought it.

You fought it.

And you brought me home.

"The days without you
Bleed together
Until they are nothing more
Than another obstacle
I must overcome."

There is a twisted road
That leads straight between us.
I walk along the forked path
And no matter which way I turn
I always end up in your arms,
Lost in your eyes,
But I know you've found me
All the same.

Your smile is a warm blanket
As it gently settles against
The curves of my body.
Your name blushes my cheeks,
It runs through my hair,
Rests softly on my lips,
Tingling my tongue.

When the painful weight of missing you
Begins to put pressure against my throat,
Squeezing my windpipe shut,
I whisper that you are mine.

And suddenly,
Everything else melts away.
Suddenly, I am free.
Suddenly, I know home is not far off.

You will forever be my always.

I've made more than my fair share of mistakes,
And I've done wrong
And I've hurt others,
And maybe one day I'll succumb to the guilt,
But today isn't that day,
Nor is tomorrow,
Or the day after.

And some days I feel like I'll never be
Quite enough for anyone,
Especially the likes of you,
But other days I feel safe and sound
In the grouping of stars that brought us together.

I have more faith in the universe,
While you have more faith in humans.
It makes a lot of sense, when you sit down and think about it.

I have been let down by choices and decisions that easily
Could not have been made,
And you have been let down by things
Beyond your control.

And you seem to be mostly intact,
But I know there are parts of you that aren't.
And maybe, if I cannot heal the broken parts of me,
They could fit into the broken parts of you,
In that lopsided sort of way
That could make us both
Whole.

I dream in constellations,
Stars burning and the moon spinning in it's orbit,
Pulling and pushing the tides.
Tugging on my heartstrings,
Whispering things
To me ever so softly,
"You can be better,"
"You can be whole,"
"You've finally home,
"But your work is not done."

I dream in constellations
Of birds that softly sing,
And stories that have yet to be told.

I'm so sick
Of rhyming
And timing
And each time I would flinch,
As you got closer
Inch
By
Inch.

Hashtag!
Maybe he didn't hit you,
But he didn't care that someone else did.

Hashtag!
Maybe he didn't hit you
But he left you in the street,
With nothing but the clothes on your back,
And the shoes on your feet!

And I have
Nothing to say to you,
Except that I hope divine intervention
Comes through.

You are the monster
You were always scared to be,
Because while you were off falling for other girls,
You were damaging me.

But I am whole,
Gladly without you.
Cut off the infection,
Let myself grow new.

Hashtag!
He didn't hit me,
But his words and stance
Could have destroyed me.

I'm so sick,
Of rhyming
And timing,
And each time I would flinch,
The closer you got,
Inch by inch.

You're a monster,
But I don't believe in you,
You're a disease,
But darling, I'm immune.

Sitting in a pew,
Thinking of my nightmares of you.
Kneeling to pray,
But no God will save me today.

I sit in the confessional,
But what can I confess to these halls?
Bloodied traces and
Tear stained faces,

I was thirteen when I threw up blood for the first time,
And I was turning nineteen the last time,
And humans are filled with bad intentions,
We sin in order to ignore all that our hearts mention,

Like you're only doing this for the thrill,
Or who would it ****?
You.
It destroys you.

We make excuses
To validate our uses,
Of people or words or things,
And this judgment is all that I can bring.

I'll let you in on a secret,
Let's hope you can keep it.
I never feel better after confession,
Maybe I'm too guilty for my good intentions.

I'm not supposed
To want to stay.
I'm not supposed
To be looking for a home
To be looking for some kind of
Haven.

I'm not supposed
To want roots
Solidified in the ground,
That was probably why
I was homeless off and on
Since I was small--
Well, smaller.

I'm not supposed to want to grow
In one place.
I'm not supposed to be the person
Who wants to stick around,
Even when they're not wanted.

I only stick around
When I'm wanted around,
Anyway.

I'm not supposed
To want to feel your hand in mine.

I'm not supposed to want to see
Glimmering blue eyes
Surrounded by sunset oranges and reds
Spiraling around seafoam blues and greens,
Smiling at me.

I'm not supposed to be honest.

I'm not supposed to be raw.

I'm supposed to be
Bare feet slamming down hard
Once they hit the gravel pavement.
The dirt road,
The sand path.

I'm supposed to be running and sprinting
As quickly and swiftly as I can
Until my lungs burn
And the rise and fall of my chest is too much.

I'm supposed to be

Bangles and jewelry
Clacking and clanging
And jingling like a bell
As I walk on air across the room
In a long flowing skirt
And puffy sleeves,
To read your mind
Or see your future.

I'm supposed to be
Crystal *****
And tarot cards.
Tea leaves
And the lines on your palms.

Instead

I am craving to belong,
I am breathing cold fall air,
I am sentimental pieces of paper
Meaning a whole hell of a lot more to me
Than golden coins and jewels.

I am the owner of a stuffed lion,
Not a real one,
That means the world to me
Because he was an imaginary friend for too long,
Until we bought him a body.

And I am squeezing your hand too hard when I remember
What happened to all the people I love
That intended on staying,
Not the flighty insects who flew away.

I am a hopeless romantic,
I am a believer of red strings
And a circle of life and things that are meant to happen that happen.

I am sitting here believing in
Meant to be
Story book endings
Higher powers that don't like getting involved
Angels that do
Tears stains that are worth it
Standing back up even when it hurts,
And a lucky scarf.

I am full of not supposed to be's
And meant to be's
And self-doubt
And ire
And fear
And Getting back up's
And Saying **** it's
And Doing the scary thing anyway's.

I am sarcasm
And rage
And tears that burn my eyes and choke my vocal chords.

But I've got running away running through my veins
But I want nothing more
Than to stay.

Move over, move over,
I tell the devil on my shoulder.
There's no room for you here,
There's no room for you anywhere.

Move over, move over,
I tell the devil on my shoulder.
I won't listen to you,
I never listened to you.

I refuse to listen
To the lies,
And I'd rather focus
On the lights inside his eyes.

Move over, move over,
I tell the angel on my shoulder.
You won't want to see this,
You won't want to see what we've become.

Move over, move over,
I tell the angel on my shoulder.
"Don't fret, dear."
She whispers so softly,
"I am always here."

There's no more room,
For the devil on my shoulder,
With the weight of the world there instead.
I'd rather be weighed down
A little extra,
By doing some good,
Than be weighed down
By my own agenda.

The devil on my shoulder
Has packed up his bags and left,
Because I'm making room
To take up some of that burden
You bury yourself with.
You can't do everything alone,
And neither can I.
But together,
I think it'll get done
Pretty smoothly.

Move over, move over,
I tell the devil on my shoulder.

I stare in the mirror,
But my brown eyes very pointedly avoid my reflection.
Instead I allow my sunset eyes
To pour into the cracks at the edges of the glass.
Not enough damage to the mirror to consider it broken,
Therefore not enough damage to consider it bad luck.

I stare into the scrapes, cracks, and scratches,
Until I see someone I have always been familiar with.
I may be even more familiar with this person
Than I am with myself.

My eyes lock
With what
Almost
Was.

Yes, the Almost!me.
The Not!me.
The Could-have-been!me.
The Just-Wasn't!me.

I am very familiar with her/him/they.

She is athletic, and only smiles when people are around.
He is talented, and his hands are always covered in a thin-to-moderate layer of graphite.
Their favorite color is spit-fire red, and they've seen too much for their age, but they love even more.

See, there are a lot of differences between me and those versions of me,
Like how she has a cute golden blush to her cheeks,
Or how he has a fondness for sunny days and blue skies,
Or that they always pull their friends in for a warm hug before they say goodbye.

But the one major difference is:

When I look at rain clouds,
I see all the potential that rain has to offer,
Not the destruction of my plans.

When my life takes a turn for the worse,
I see my loved ones as a reason to stick around,
Not as reasons to pack up and leave.

The difference is
When I said that I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had someone who wanted to protect me from myself.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I was give at least five reasons to stay.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had people who loved me that had the guts to try to convince me that I might want to rethink that statement.

So I wave goodbye,
I clean off the mirror,
And I turn off the lights to the bathroom as I walk out.

Each time I walk past my reflection for the rest of the day,
I make eye contact with myself,
As a way of saying
"Thank you for staying."
A way of saying
"Thank you for surviving."
A way of saying
"Thank you for trying to live."
and then
"I really needed that today."

See, the big difference between me and all the almost!me's, is that I am here,
Very firmly and very stubbornly above ground,
Despite my past efforts.
And they...
They are not.

The biggest difference between me and the me that wasn't,
Is that they just weren't.
And I am.

I am.

That buzzing excitement
Before you come home.

And your hands
Holding mine
Is the only home I need.

I need your voice,
Your laugh,
Your presence.

Don't you see it?
It could be so easy,
So obviously
Portrayed.
You're everything,
Even the air I breathe.

No one ever said
Loving someone was supposed to be
Easy
But you make it so
Natural
Like you're all I've been needing
All that's been missing
Like you're all I needed
To keep going
And accomplish
What I need to.

You're the voice that steadies me,
The touch that grounds me,
And the only home
I've ever wanted to know.

There's nowhere
I need to go,
But I'd go anywhere
If it meant being by your side.

Wherever you are
Is home.

My voice is silent,
My words are whispers in the blowing wind.
I am not loud,
I am not intrusive.

To most people,
An unheard
"I miss you."
Would be replaced
With
"Nevermind, it wasn't that important."

Because no one listens,
And it's gotten to the point
That you don't really care
If anyone hears you.

And all of a sudden
An unheard "I love you,"
Is replaced by a louder and more aggressive
"I love you!!!"

People don't hear
People like me.

I have a lot to say,
But few will ever listen.

Most listen
With the intent to respond,
Not the intent to hear.

I appreciate
And rather enjoy
Your intent to hear
Me.

I hope you know,
I have full intentions
Of hearing you too.

My skin is like ice,
And your touch is fire.
And you've melted me,
Melting me,
Into something I don't recognize.
No more walls, no more hiding,
No more being afraid.
Ever so slowly getting comfortable
With being loved.

Your heart is ice,
There's warmth close, beneath the surface.
But you don't speak to what your mind thinks,
You don't speak of the fire in your eyes,
Or the storm within your chest.
But I see it,
And I know it,
Because I feel that fire in your gaze
And it bleeds into me through every kiss,
And I know that storm fairly well,
It guides me back to your arms
When I feel wayward and scared.

And your voice is level and steady,
An array of soft orange at its' most anxious,
But cool blue and green at its' most loving and calm,
And I've grown so used to that
That when it's not,
Whether it be jokingly so or otherwise,
I grow concerned due to the intentions of others before you.

I'm freezing, honestly,
But I know when you're home,
I have a fire to look forward to.

Let's start off with saying that I want this spiraling descent
Into the destruction of my carefully constructed facade of calm
To stop.

I want to see your colors,
Though that won't happen for another two weeks.

And I want to feel your hands in mine,
And I want to feel your arms around me,
And I want to cry.
I want to cry and listen to your heartbeat
As it calms me.

I want to hear your voice,
And I want to look into your eyes,
And I want to tell you that I love you
And I want you to tell me
That you love me
Because I know
You love me,

Deep down inside this descent into madness
Caused by the change in the weather
And coping with triggers,
I know you love me.

I know with the very center of my being,
That the whole epitome of  this whole thing
Is that I love you
And you love me.

I want to flood your face with kisses,
And I want to run my hands through your hair,
And I want to be yours,
So wholly and completely and entirely.

And I am. No matter what.
I want to be yours
And I am.

I hate to see you go,
so far away.

tonight's our last night
for a month
and my heart has been dreading
the fact that I know
I won't sleep.

wait,
please,
in this
moment
please.

just wait,
let me breathe you in
let me hold you
let me bask in the light
of your smile
your laugh.

the closer I get
to your heart
the more it hurts
the farther you are.

but no distance
can successfully demolish
what I hold in my heart for you
and no distance
can touch how much
I care for you.

I will yearn for you
until we meet again
but you must vow
to be safe
and come home.

please come home to me.

Foggy navy skies
And purple and pink clouds
Gleam and glow,
And we wait and we wait
Waiting for snow.

I find light in the gentle
Falling of fluffy wads of snowflakes,
Softly caressing the earth.
And the grass freezing
With the morning dew,
There is a type of comfort
In the slow destruction.

Slow and calm,
Freezing winds rush through the air,
And the harsh drought upon my skin
Gives way to the slow destruction
That winter brings.

But if I must be destroyed
But gentle cold
Compared to stinging heat,
Then watching the snow drift
Down from the heavens
Isn't the worst way
To be reborn.

I burnt myself making dinner again.

This time it was my arm, not my hand.

I want to be better.
I have to be better.

I know I have to be patient,
But it hurts me when I see that sliver
Of... whatever it is, in your eyes.

Maybe it's disappointment.
Maybe it's fear.

I know I have to get worse before I get better,

But I don't want to lose you.

Life is short,
But
Hope is violent.

It makes you think,
It makes you see.
It gives you the ability
To move forward.
Motive to keep going.

Life is short,
But
Love is brutal.
True love is kind,
And patient,
And doesn't begrudge you.
True love is honest, whether it hurts or not.

Life is short
But
Laughing is painful.
You smile for too long
And your cheeks start to hurt
And you laugh too hard
And your abdomen starts to ache.


Life is short,
But
Aren't all fun things?

Less is not more
When it comes to history,
When it comes to meant to be
And my darling dear,
I sincerely believe
We are meant to be.

Less is more
When it comes to
Needs and wants,
It doesn't need to be complicated,
It just needs to be real.

A flower,
A letter,
It doesn't need to be
Extravagant
You just have to
Try.

But less is not more
When it comes
To the years
We've had,
And the years I've spent
Vying to be
Right by your side.

And I may hide it,
But there's a part of me
That is ever so bold
In my affections for you.

If less is more,
Then just let me hold you,
And hear you speak.
I want to touch your skin,
And feel your heartbeat,
Because with every pulse
I know the world is a little brighter,
And the weight on my shoulders
Is a little lighter.

I fear getting attached
But it's way too late for that.
So remember my fingers laced between yours,
And remember my voice
And the sweet nothings
That mean everything,
Oh so brash.
And if loving you
Is sinful,
I will gladly take
Any and every lash.

If less is more,
Then fill my heart with love
Through one kiss
That will lead to
Millions more.

Some people are made to break.
Some people are made to last.

Some people are made out of brittle malachite,
And soft, aluminum filigree.

Others are made from obsidian and jade,
Carved agate cameos for hearts.

But you,
You're made from the most refined lapis,
Crystal clear sapphire of all colors,
With steel and platinum filigree and carvings.
Your heart is warm and soft,
Mainly because it's made up of
Constellations and gold.
And your walls are made out of
Steel and platinum, the same. It drizzles and mists too often behind them.
Your eyes take from your heart,
That very same gold struggling to show
Behind waves of blue skies
That yearn to gloss over the fog
Behind those steel and platinum walls.

But I've found a disparity in your defenses,
A sliver of a crack, that's not too big, but enough so that
I may wriggle through.

And despite my attempts,
Successful or otherwise,
To break down your walls,
When I lay before you,
Naked and vulnerable,
It is not steel nor stone I feel against the pale nervousness of my skin.
Instead, I feel the warmth of constellations, and the curious softness of gold.

Your touch is made up of galaxies,
And so I must ask,
Make me your universe.

I remember how it felt
When I looked at you
Before your eyes met mine,
When I saw you again
After seven (gruesome) years.

It felt very final.
I knew I loved you,
But I kept thinking
All through out lunch,
"This is it. The end all, be all."

The thing is, I knew.
I knew that when I saw you
While I was crossing the street
From the apartment complex to the restaurant, while my heart was exploding
With giddy butterflies, that this was it.
That it was you.
That there wasn't going to be anyone else.
And maybe there never was.

At least, not for me.

I looked at you the same way on Saturday afternoon.
It felt very final.
Even though I felt like there were a thousand sirens going off in my head,
There was one part of my mind that was silent, save for one fact.
That it was you.
That it had always been you.
There never was anyone else.

At least, not for me.

I'm not like you.
We're two very different creatures,
I tried to tell you this after I placed the things
I felt the need to return to you on our bed.
I tried to tell you that you deserve someone like you.
Because you do.
You deserve, at the very least, to be understood.

I am not like you.
I do not have primal, instinctual attraction.
I cannot look at others as though they
Are plausible mates.
I can't do this, because they aren't.
I have you, and only you.

I am not like you.
You, who can set down roots
And make a home out of wherever
Your head rests.

I cannot root myself,
I don't know how to have a home.
I've got wandering in my blood,
My bare feet were made for running away.
I don't know how to make roots.
I don't think I ever knew.

On Saturday (and every day since),
I have looked at you with the same finality that I had when I saw you again for the first time.
The same love.
The same longing to be able to make you my home.
The same remorse and guilt I always feel when I have to get up and leave what I love, because I simply cannot stay.

Because I don't know how to have a home, and it is a fools game to try to make a home out of a person.

I was trying to leave, because people like me don't deserve people like you. People like you, who are good and patient and compassionate, and have hearts made from gold, and souls stitched from clouds. People like you shouldn't spend time on people like me. People like me, who are petty and volatile and selfish, and have broken glass for hearts and souls made out of ash and smoke.

I was trying so hard to do the right thing,
For once.
To be selfless,
For once.
To give you a chance at a better life.

But then, with tears in your eyes,
You asked me to stay.

And I don't know why you would want someone like me to stay. Someone who runs as far as they can, constantly. Someone who can't make the sun come out from behind the clouds.

But when I looked at you,
I hated myself for putting so much dark pain in your bright blue eyes.

So, I looked at you like I've been looking at you. I took in every detail. I took note of every part of your face I had never told you I loved, even though I do. Like the bridge of your nose, or your cheek bones or the way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks when you blink, or how your hair sometimes curls into a swoop on your forehead. Or how your eyebrows are never really all that messed up but you always have at least one hair sticking out of place. Or how your jaw tightens when you're upset and trying to control it, and it makes your chin poke out just a little bit. Or how you flatten your lips into a line when you're thinking, or when you bite them when you're trying not to feel.

Or how your tears made the blue in your eyes brighter, and it reminded me what it was about rain I used to find so beautiful.

I was looking at you, and have been looking at you,
Like it was the last time.
Because you never know when that will come.

So, I was selfish.

And even though I had caused those tears, you asked me to stay.

And I don't know how to stay.
I don't think I ever did.

But for you, I could learn.

I've got running away
Running through my veins,
But I'd like nothing more
Than to stay.

And if it was to stay,
Right here,
Right now,
Right by your side,
Then I think
I'd be okay.

Not to say that I'm not
It's just that this is a lot,
All that I'm feeling.

Control.
It's about controlling
Myself, my heart, my trust in people.
But how could I not trust you?
That's essentially impossible,
For the likes of me.

I've always run away,
I just run away,
When I'm scared
When feeling gets hard
When the air gets thin.

I run away because
My skin is made of
Sun drenched pavement,
And my heart is made of frostbite,
Because hurt-people hurt people,
And I don't want to hurt anyone.

So run before you hurt them,
Run as fast and as far,
If you let them in you'll hurt them,
But I can't hurt you,
I won't hurt you.

Freedom is being free with you,
And if freedom means
Sticking around
I'll be around
For as long as I can.

But even with who I used to be,
I'm so glad to be this new me,
Because now I have a reason not to run.

If I've got running away
Running through me veins,
Then let me stay,
Let me stay with you.

My father used to pour me
Blood from the steak he was cooking
So that way I'd grow up strong,
And I'd grow up passionate.
He regrets it, I know it.

My mother used to
Fill up pouches made of lambskin
With wilted flowers and salt
And paint angels on them
And hang them from my doorknob.
It was for protection but I don't quite understand it.

I'd write about what my older brother
Used to do,
But I'm just not in the mood
To cry.

My little brothers used to
Hold onto the hem of my dress
When something scared them.
They used to come to me
When they were sad,
And sleep on my shoulder
When they were young
And tired.

I used to
Keep rocks from the playground
In a hat box
Under my bunk bed,
Along with letters I never sent.

And I used to have so many stuffed cats and dogs and lions
That all had specific names
And stories
And when I moved time and time again
And when I was scared and alone,
They were the closest things I had to friends.

I used to know
What it was like
To be alone.
I used to be
Okay with living and dying
Without being known.

And I would rather,
Sit in silence with someone I love,
Than sit alone with the noise in my head,
Replaying every horrific and terrible memory
From the last ten years.

And sometimes I think about
How people miss being kids,
And how things were so much "easier" then.
But it wasn't that way for me.
Being an adult is hard.
But while I'll never really grow up,
Growing older is the best thing
I've ever done for myself.

And I wonder if you ever looked back
At the broken, little listless thing I was,
And saw something off, something wrong.
But I still doubt anyone puts that much thought
Into things like that.

All I can say is that I'm thankful
For you and your kindness,
And for the love that you've shown me.

I am glad I have seen
And been through
What I have,
It has made me who I am,
And it has made me the woman
That you love.

She clutches a stuffed rabbit
Close to her body.
His ears are threadbare,
All the fur has been loved off.

The lights overhead
Can mean life or death,
So she looks into the glassy eyes of her rabbit,
Her eyes imitating his,
What her mother would call "misty eyed".

She stares at the lights,
As they become more and more, ever the closer.
Ever the brighter.

She drops her rabbit into a bush, whispering,
"This is your chance. Go on, become."
The lights get brighter.
The bush does nothing but rustle.
"Please." She whispers.

The lights are too bright.
There's a hissing noise,
And in the shadow of the lights,
Much too bright too see her,
A rabbit with a fluffy white tail,
And very real paws,
Nervously bounds out of the bushes.

The rabbit hesitates,
Almost looks back.

And then he's gone.

Sprawl it all out on blue paper
build something new
out of these old parts of me.

I am the cold of the breeze,
the brisk of the wind.
I am the whispers at night,
where the end begins.

but find me wrapped in your blanket,
I am vulnerable and I am delicate
I am no flower
but I come pretty
****
close.

I am the sun
soaking into your skin
I am the warmth
of blue skies and sin.

I am the call
of a blue jay
at sundown
I am a sparrow
going down
going down

I am the cool touch
of dusk.
for I am the light
as it slips away.

I am the shadow
you know
all
too
well

that remains
I always remain.

you are the sunrise
in various shades of unusual purples and pinks.
you are the sunset
all the orange and red I could fathom.

you are the night sky
a never ending
royal violet
with twinkling hope
dappled careless across.

you are the song
of victory
at the end of a long fight.

you are the drum beat
that prepares me for the wars I fight daily,
and you are the reason
I win every single one.

and if I could tell you
"thank you"
for all that you've done,
and all that you are
I would need a better word
for gratitude,
and even then
I'd need a better word
than that.

I stretch my sore arms out
Spread my fingers as far apart as they'll go.

I open my mouth,
And with my yawn comes a mighty roar from behind my sternum.

I try not to flinch,
But that old wound hasn't healed entirely
Just yet.

I can feel myself
Begin to crumble from the weight of
My own voice.

But I dig my heels
Of the feet attached to my aching legs into the burning, ashen ground.

I stare up at the blazing sky.
Twinkle of mischief in my eye.

Tell them to rest easy--

The dearly departed.
Because I'm just getting started.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of of the way it feels on your tongue,
Whether you're spitting it back at him,
Or swallowing it along with your pride,
When asking for help.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of the way it feels on your lips
When they're pulled back into a grin
Or are pursed into a pout.

His name isn't important,
No, it's more of the way it feels in your throat,
A raw sensation on your vocal chords,
When you scream it within a dream,
Terrified of losing him.
Or just as raw, but a thousand times more euphoric
When it's pitched into a moan.

His name isn't important.
No, it isn't.
It's the way your face flushes when you hear his voice,
Or the way your stomach jumps into giddy butterflies when he's coming home,
Or the way your heart frenzies and then settles into a rhythmic beat when he lays his head on your chest.
It's the way he holds you
When you get too bad,
When you didn't mean it,
When you don't know how it happened,
When you just don't remember but it stings,
So he helps you clean yourself off,
He helps you clean it off,
And helps bandage you up
Before you go to bed.

It's the way he doesn't hate you for it.

His name isn't important,
Rather, it's the way he makes you feel like you're flying, and that the air is your home.
It's the way he turns the fan down and the heater on before he leaves, so you don't get cold without him there.
It's the way he eats what you cook, and doesn't tell you it's bad when it's bad, unless you bring it up first.
It's the way you notice the little things about him, like the way he holds you tight before he gets up in the morning,
Or the way he wraps his arms around you,
Or holds your hand
Or brushes the hair out of your face because he wants to see your eyes
Or just the way his silhouette against his colors strikes your heart,
The way his eyes pierce into your very soul.

It's the way you feel like you have to protect him too,
Just like he protects you,
Because he gets defensive when he explains that he wants to do something,
And relaxes when you explain to him that it's okay, of course he can do the thing he wants to do, you would never stop him from doing anything he wants, as long as it doesn't hurt him.
It's the way the worry in his eyes isn't judgmental, instead it's kind and warm and somewhat achy in your bones, like the flu. But it doesn't make your heart drop, like when he gives you bad news.

His name isn't important,
No, it's the way he wants to care for you,
The way he has trouble articulating how he feels about you
Because he's not the poet, you are.
The way he tries to show it through adverbs and actions,
And you notice it occasionally.
It's the way it still feels surreal
That he cares to the extent that he does.

His name isn't important,
No, not at all.
But rather, it's the fact
That it's his.

Sometimes I almost remember
A small village of mostly sheep farms,
And little shops that are run out of people's homes.

And I almost remember
A forest I've been to a thousand times.
And sometimes the leaves are new.
And sometimes sharp icicles reflect light into my eyes.

And I see him.
And there's something about his eyes.
I recognize them.
They're just like mine.

Because something inside him is sad and dark and broken and bleeding.

And you can see it right through his eyes,
Almost.

But there's still a fire in his eyes.
A light.
Something that wasn't supposed to be
A permanent solution
But it stitched up the wound,
And he hasn't tried to do anything else for it since.

But my favorite almost-memory
About this place,
Is the little yellow house
With black shutters
And a second floor veranda,
On the top of a grassy green hill.
The house smells like black tea
And fresh apple pie.

I can almost remember.

But then I don't.

I am shy,
I am timid.
I am loving,
I am compassionate.

I am all delicate features,
Curves,
And dramatic lines to define them.

I am meek,
I am sweet,
And I will rip your throat out with my teeth.

If my life
Was a pretentious and overly validated
Piece of literature
Written by a skittish play-write
Who most likely used a pen-name
To write things,
Then my life so far
Would be considered a "Tragedy".
As in, everyone either leaves or dies.

It wouldn't be a Tragedy that made sense.
No, it wouldn't be like Hamlet, or Macbeth.
It would be more like Romeo & Juliet.

As in, it all started because two people
Made some dumb choices.
And then bad things happened.
And then everyone involved continued to make dumb choices
And lots of people got hurt.

My life, so far,
Could be considered a very literal
"Series of Unfortunate Events".

I never was very good
At forming relationships with people.
Friendships, bonds, whatever.
I don't know how to make a connection
With people.
And when I do,
I sabotage it.
Because everyone leaves.
So I burn that bridge before they get a chance
To even srtike a match.

I'm not a permanent-kind-of-person.

I never have been.

I've never wanted to be. At least, that's what I tell myself as the bridges collapse into ash and soot and smoldering embers.

... And then, there was you.

You, the kind of person whose rare cheshire grin lights up the whole room,
Even if just for a second.
Even if it was just there on your face for a second.
There was at least a little light,
For at least a second.

You, who refuses to leave my side.
You, who puts up with my inability to comprehend that you love me and you are staying and that I don't have to be afraid. I don't have to burn our very old bridge.

You, with your thoughtful scowl,
And loving hands.
You, who quietly observes the world.
You, who is always there when I need it.
You, who is always there when I want it.

You, who is my everything.

You, who I love.

You, who I have always loved.

Maybe we'll get a happily-ever-after, after all.

Preventing myself
From expressing concerns
Of whether or not you've eaten,
Sending a quadruple text
Explaining that I miss you and
That I hope you're okay,
And that I kind of want to send you
Funny pictures
And throw in an awkward picture of me
Hiding behind the cocoon of blankets
I've wrapped myself in.

Today was a bad day.
I can't wait to hear your voice,
But saying that--
Well, I've been told that's bad,
That's weird,
That's not quite correct to tell someone.

I hope we get to the point
That it's okay.
I'm sure you wouldn't mind
Hearing things like that,
I'm just scared you might.

It's awful that there have been people
Who have told me the exact opposite
Of the things you've said to me.
You care to hear what I have to say,
And you don't want to hear my apologies,
Not because you think they're guilt trips,
But because you think they're unnecessary.

I really want to hold your hand,
And listen to you speak or laugh,
Or even just breathe.
And I know that's insane,
I know that's weird,
But I've never felt this way before.

There aren't butterflies in my stomach,
But little sparks trying to start a fire in heart,
So that way when I see you,
I know I'm home.

It's the after taste of the handful of pills you take,
Every day,
Every night.

It's the headache you get after you cry,
Tears you didn't even know  you had.

It's the chalky sensation,
Of the pills in your chest.

It's the heart burn in your ribcage
That burns into your throat.

It's the vicious pain in your wrists,
Before the blade hits.

It's the hyperventilation that keeps you from seeing.

But it's the moment you realize,
That death is not painful,
Nor is it a release.

It's the eerie sense of calm,
Before the storm sets in.

You feel nothing.
You think nothing but
"This is it."

You feel as though everything has built up
To this point.

That everything you love
Has fallen apart.

It's the moment of fear that comes after,
When you decide that it was wrong
When you decide you don't want this,
When you realize what you've done.

It's getting pushed around by nurses,
After you tell them why you're there.

It's being told "You deserve this"
By the people you thought cared.

So call me a **** up.
Call me a monster.

But don't you dare call me a coward.

I have looked Death in the face and refused his offers.

I have chosen life and light above Death and Darkness.

I have come over the hill and back again,
And made amends and seen the truth.

What is right is not always easy, and what is easy is not always right.

Just get by,
Just keep going.
Just get somewhere
Where the pain is a little less.

But I have a new dream,
New hopes,
New ambitions.

You are my new dream.

I dream of waking up in your arms,
And giving a flurry of kisses to wake you up.
I dream of foggy "G'morning..."'s,
And warm and fuzzy
Giggling and kissing
And my fingers
Laced between yours,
As we wake up fully.

I dream of making you breakfast,
Because I'm actually awake enough.
And I dream of packing a lunch for you,
With leftovers from the night before.
And I dream of making you dinner,
And splitting the duties of clean up.

I dream of nights falling asleep on the couch,
Because we binge watched some anime or superhero show
On Netflix
A little too long.

I dream of water pistol fights
In the kitchen.
And nerf gun wars
Through out the house.

I dream of our first child,
And I dream of waking up at 1 am,
And figuring out whose turn it is
To soothe the baby's cries.

And I dream of long nights
And rain storms,
And dealing with toil and tribulations,
And fights that are sure to come,
That end in heavy sighs
And my resting my head on  your shoulder,
Shouldering off tears,
That you wipe away,
And dual apologies
That are sure to bring some kind of
Stupid joke,
That will catch us off guard
And make the both of us
Laugh.

I dream of a life.
Happy and full,
Something to be proud of,
However simple,
However honest.

You are my dream.

I was once
A distant memory
And I forget
But I don't want to recall
The pain that my life was
When you were my friend.

So I hope you're well,
But know that I cannot
Be there
I cannot
Care.

No one saw
The wounds
For they were sheathed
Beneath
Bone.

It hurts to fade
Away from you,
But if this is the journey
Life must take me on
Then this is the journey
I will gladly accept.

You'd be so proud,
Or maybe you wouldn't,
I am unsure
If I know you
Anymore.

But the you you used to be
When you were you and I was me,
Would be so proud
Of who I have become.

I am strong
But careful,
And I do not strike,
But if I do,
It is swift and painless
And the only hurt that is left over
Is mine and mine alone.

I hope you are well,
But riddle me this,
If you were you
And I were me
Would we still be
This distant?

I used to think that blue eyes were pretentious. I used to think that everyone with blue eyes somehow thought they were better than plain old me, with brown eyes and brown hair.

Shallow, right?

And then I met you, and for some reason, blue eyes were much less pretentious, and blue became my favorite color. Blue felt like home when mine was breaking. Blue felt like home when I didn't have one.

Hopeless, right?

But I've always been shy, and when I went through a phase of questioning myself and who I was, I didn't dare risk reaching out to you, out of fear you wouldn't really care. I ended up in a lot of bad situations, all of which I survived. I have the scars to prove it.

Foolish, right?

And I guess, in a vulnerable state in which I was afraid to be alone, I made another bad decision, and this decision was, just like before, a person. He brought out the worst in me, and I him. I thought his blue eyes could be a nice home too. Not the same way yours were. The way a desperate person takes shelter in a storm. But he was the storm, and I was collateral damage. I guess I thought I could make a home out of shrapnel.

Naïve, right?

I used to believe in meant to be. I used to believe in destiny, and true love, and red strings of fate. I stopped believing in that, for awhile. I went on various dates, with men who were nice and friendly. But upon telling them I couldn't go on dates with them anymore, because I wasn't ready to be with anyone, in any capacity, they stopped talking to me. It was foolish of me to think I was more than a chance at getting laid to them.

Gross, right?

And then we started talking again. And honestly, I didn't trust you at first. I wanted to, but I was scared. But when we met in person again, for the first time in seven years, I, slowly, started to believe again. And when you weren't paying attention, I'd steal glances at you, and even though I'd written off blue eyes, seeing the noon-sky and golden-sun within your iris's was almost too much. I felt at home, once more. And whether that was platonic or not didn't really matter. Because when you hugged me goodbye after I asked, I realized I loved you. And maybe I'd never really stopped.

Romantic, right?

I used to think blue eyes were overrated. I used to think I wasn't meant to be with anyone. I used to not believe in true love. It's funny, because now we've been married since November. And now I can't imagine going a day without watching the smile on your lips touch your eyes. And now I can't imagine being with anyone else. And maybe fate isn't a thing. And maybe neither is destiny. And maybe there are no red strings of fate. But I know true love is real, because I love you more than I've loved anyone else, of any kind of love. And you're the person I'm going to love forever, the person I have loved forever.

But now I do believe that fate only brings us to do the things we would do anyway.

Because if I had to choose between fate and loving you, then I guess I don't have any guidance besides the blue of your eyes.

Corny, right?

It's hard to be lighthearted
When you hold the strings to pull
Your entire world down,
In hands that shake with tremors from too many medications
Too many years ago.

But still,
I prevail when I see your smile
Over the storm clouds
That loom over my head
Daily.

They call it an illness,
A sickness,
Some that you can "catch" or develop,
And some that you're just born with.

People call it being broken.
That's why people act different.
No, don't take it back.
It's okay.
I don't want you to.
It hurts, but that's the truth.

Humans have a tendency
To be able to sense danger,
And those with hearts
Can almost smell the blood that stained your hands,
From a wound that's long been closed up.

And every now and again
It itches and I scratch at it,
And it tears back open.
Keeps the scar fresh,
With big, bold, iron scented "DON'T TOUCH" red warning letters,
I guess.

And I have these dreams,
Not so much anymore,
But I used to,
Where the world was on fire,
And I caused the burning.

I had these dreams,
Now not so much,
Where I was fall into nothingness
And swamp water
And the last thing I saw
Before my descent into madness
Were electric eyes,
Constructed of galaxies and bits of expired universes.

And I felt this hatred,
This deep burning rage,
Because I had no idea
Whose they were,
And why.
And I hated that they made me feel vulnerable,
And safe.
I've never felt that way outside of a dream
Before you.

And I'm small when I whisper,
"I just feel like
I'm sitting out in a rain storm,
Holding an umbrella over a little fire
To keep the world from blowing it out,
And so far I'm succeeding,
But they're trying so very hard,
And I just don't know why
They want to blow out my my fire?
All it does is make the dark of the storm,
A little brighter."

And the little flicker of hope in my heart
Responds so brightly,
I almost forget about my fire.
"Because," She says, "You're strong enough to handle it."
"And if the worlds adds more shrapnel to your pyre,
You will have to burn all the brighter."

So I'll sit out in the rainstorm,
With an umbrella and a cold,
Protecting this little fire,
And I think I'll be okay.

I just wanted you.

That's all.

I wanted your smile,
Your laugh,
Your warmth
And your arms around me.

I just wanted a chance for my heart to glance upon
The galaxies in your eyes.

I wanted to love you,
To show you all that love.

I still want that,
You.

And while I know I have you,
I also know
I might not have all of you.

Close the door,
Shut me away.

I'll never be
Good enough
Strong enough
Anything close to
Enough.

I want to pull my hood down,
And shut the world out
Nothing feels right,
I'll never be right.

My head hurts
And I'm afraid,
I'm afraid of the hell I've made.

I know I'm still sick,
And I can feel this infection in my body
Making everything worse,
But I want you to know
Nothing is worse than feeling like I'm not good enough for you.

And try and try as I might
I can't bring myself to more than
Like myself.

But at least it's enough
For me to take enough charge,
That I want to be treated
As more than
Just a person
On the other end of the screen.

I'm shivering and shaking
And I'm just here waiting
For the world to go a little slower,
Just a little bit
Just a little bit.

My veins were clearly visible
Beneath my pale, pale skin,
As the hot water fell in what felt like bullets
To my dizzy, spinning head.

And I'm still shivering, and I'm still shaking,
And I'm just waiting
For the world to be a little warmer,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit.

And my skin is like porcelain,
If porcelain could scar.
If porcelain was olive,
And if porcelain held a grudge against the people who treated it like
Porcelain.

I'm just shivering,
And I'm just shaking,
And I'm just sitting here
Waiting.

What are you supposed to do
When your worst fears
Begin to come true?

I don't mean to sound self-loathing,
But I warned you.
This is what you get
For loving the sick girl.

Please don't be surprised
Or confused.
I warned you,
And I tried, before, to give you multiple outs.
Whether it be by pushing you away,
Or explicitly explaining
How I am, and what usually happens.

I can't make this feeling of worthlessness
Go away just because I want it to.

I can't pretend I'm confident when
There are just so many things
I'm terrible at.

And I can't just be better,
Stop being anxious,
Stop being depressed,
Stop not focusing,
Stop being manic or dysphoric.

It takes more than wanting to be better.

It takes a lot of work.

And while I know I can't do it on my own,
I understand if you don't want to help.
Or if you can't.

But this is what you signed up for
When you started loving the sick girl.

Isn't it curious
That coincidences don't
Seem so much like coincidences
Anymore?

Sure,
Maybe it was some kind of
Coincidence
That I've loved you all this time,
And that now you're mine to love and to hold,
But I'd like to think
That fate has a funny way
Of bringing people together.

I wanted to be yours,
Yes,
Each and every day before
I finally was.
But was I fit to be yours?
No.
I wasn't quite whole,
I wasn't quite steady.
I didn't quite know
Who I was.

But I am yours,
Through and through.
My heart will always
Belong to you.

But isn't it curious
How life has such a funny way
Of playing out?

Take the knife
That they dug into my spine,
And pull it out.

Pull it out.

And take the knife
That they dug into my spine,
And plunge that knife
Into my stomach.

That's what love feels like.

It feels like asking someone
To plunge a knife into your stomach,
Only the knife isn't for stabbing,
It's for cutting out the infection
That everyone else left inside you.

So take the knife out of my stomach,
And stitch me back up
With thread and glue,
Dab at the wound with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide,
And I'll writhe in pain,
Until the aching and the itching subsides.

Didn't you know?
Didn't you hear?

Love is a risk for anybody.

It's all about who you're willing
To jump that cliff for.

And whether or not
You fall
Or you fly.

My mind is foggy
From my depression.
Something I've been diagnosed with.
Something I only notice
When it gets really bad.

I say things.
Things about myself
That if anyone else said them,
I'd be beyond hurt.

But the fog
Makes it okay.

Because the fog twists things,
And words,
And actions,
And expressions.

And my past makes me paranoid.

Like when you're being extra quiet,
And extra thoughtful,
Introspecting,
If you will.
When you use responses like "I will be."
To my question of "Are you okay?"

It rubs me the wrong way.
I can't take things
At face-value.

Everything is deeper.

The fog makes the distance between us
Seem much bigger than it probably is.

But to me,
It goes on for miles.