Every morning I wake up
To an empty bed and an empty phone
Every morning I remember
That you aren't here anymore

I'm left with an empty feeling
In the pit of my stomach
And an empty future
Where our plans used to be

They say it gets better
That one day there won't
Be this gaping hole inside
Where I had you

But I just don't think
That I believe them
I don't think I'll ever
Be whole
Again

She can’t tell who will leave
and who will stay.
Instead she chooses
To push them all away.

Being vulnerable
Is her greatest fear.
Her heart is too guarded
To let someone near.

So scared to be loved
Afraid to trust.
If she is broken again
She may crumble to dust.

It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

i quietly wonder
if i had done anything
wrong to reclaim
another faultful star

as i stare outside the window
cascading past endless stretches
of worn paved-roads
and vast fertile landscapes

and everything looks transiently gargantuan

but i momentarily glance
at the empty bus seat next to me
and i feel rather small again

flimsy music in my ears
speaking of infinite sentiments
and i’m disenchanted again
these mellisonant voices are enough
they have to be enough

to keep my wandering mind
company against the ephemeral madness

i flick my red lighter open
and hold it close—but not too close
to my dying pen; wondering, for
a moment, if the same trick could revive
my spirits like the stuttering ink,
tempted to burn my flesh back to life

but i merely stare into the flame—
flickering unsteady still—and blow it out
so it doesn’t have to be lonely
as my heart is right now

as i travel from small city
to smaller town, i wonder where
all my friends are right now
how they are all doing
what they are doing

and if they’re all having fun
without me.

i.

i used to only write sad poems.

ii.

you see,
i am a cynic,
a cemetery,
a holocaust,
a chaotic, distant, lost girl
buried in her own
self-destruction.

but with you
i am different.

i want to wake up,
keep my promises,
make up for lost time,
spill blood and ink,
try again,
live

for you.

iii.

you walk me home
and the skies blush
pink cloud summers
mid-December.

we part and i marvel
at the sepia tint
of backyard roses
blurring my lenses.

you came in
like the missing palette color
i never knew
i needed
my skies painted with.

iv.

now, you are all the love poems
i didn't know i could write.

and every metaphor i create
is just a lengthier version of
'i love you'

i really do.