i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.

Sometimes, I am a paper girl.
I look in the mirror
To judge my blotches and creases-
I am a pale, thin tissue
That bows to the howling wind
Transparent for anyone who cares enough to look.

If you like pretty pictures, I'm the one for you-
A roll of film scratching laughs
On curious cinema screens
That could run into infinity
Just to fuel your smile.

I soak up your messes willingly:
All the colours that bleed and mix
To form the specks of sadness
In your eyes at 10.p.m
And the grass stains that roll
Down your bare gypsy feet
And the sunflower seeds
That stick to your inky lashes-
These things give an echo of the flavour
I miss.

I am vain
I regularly conjure up poetry on my skin-
Do not give me yours.
I will recite it to my last paper breath
So I can kid myself that paper is power.

I am not the phantom you teach to play piano
Under the helter-skelter moon,
I am far too fragile for that-
My paper cut fingers bend
And bleed light all over the keys.

My hands are a canvas
For anyone's ***** details
For if enough titles are painted on my body then perhaps
I will learn the complex trick
Of gaining depth

And maybe the world will look as full
And real as I read in books
And dance with in music
And maybe my edges will stop being ripped
Or my corners cut
Or my pages burned and tossed aside.

Sometimes, I am this tiny
Vulnerable
Origami creature
And my cream card bones tremble like feathers
A bad caricature of life.

Sometimes I am full of wonder-

But right now, I am this.

I have not lived a-hundred years.
There is much I've yet to see,
And days which I have yet to live.
I'm not yet who I'm meant to be.

The people who I'll one day love,
Have yet to see my face.
The time will come for them to make,
The memories I cannot replace.

Perhaps I'll have a family,
Or, Maybe I'll remain alone,
If one day I should serve the time,
For sins that I can not atone.

Yet one thing is for certain.
It's the only truth I trust;
Just like the words upon a page,
I'll one day fade to dust.

Falling
For you
Is like falling
To sleep
You're the sun on my skin
The last peace that I keep

I was born for your arms
Born for this rest
No research, no doubt
You're the end to my quest

Undeterred by the morning
When you withdraw like the ocean
Away from my shore
Because I know with each parting
We will meet once more

When night falls at last
I fall into you
Content in the knowledge
That those who sleep without passion
Do not sleep like we do

/əs/
pronoun

:broken embers
waning from the fire
it used to be.

I will never let you be cruel to yourself;
For you are the sunshine on my darkest of days,
And the sun can not shine without the confidence of knowing
It can light up the world.

I can sleep, and sleep
And dream all I want
But will I ever reach that dream
Will what I do be enough?

I can look, and look
At the people on the street
And I can see them
But can they see me?

I can listen, and hear
The cars passing by
The music from the skies
But will anyone hear me as I try, and try?

I can feel, and touch
Everything soft
And be happy
But will what I write touch someone's heart?

I want to help, I want to understand
And this may sound selfish
And maybe it is
But can someone help me too?

Because I just wanna help you..

Sometimes I still get lost;
in a moment,
in a memory,
in the empty spaces yet to be filled.

It creeps though the cracks and crevasses
of my unconsciousness
like a creature,
trying to find a place to belong;
to feel alive.

It's presence is so subtle
that it silently slips it's way in
without notice
and builds its new home in my solace.

And like a wild fire,
it spread to every part of my body,
paralyzing my will
and holds me hostage to the madness.

Breaking down doors I've locked
and destroying walls I've recently patched;
letting my demons run free, once again.

Chaos ensues as I sit there
drowning in my fear,
my misery,
my loneliness.

Lost,
until the flames subside,
and my demons had their way with me,
and I'm left cleaning up the wreck.