Hello, Cupid,
what are your plans for me this year?
I've been lucky for a while now,
but today might not be the same
This guy that I've been seeing,
well, we're not quite really dating?
And he told me last night
that he's not very lovey right now?
Sooooo
I guess today is a single girl's day...
But, hey!
There's still plenty of time
for a V-Day surprise:
roses at the door and Mylar balloons galore
A box of chocolate hearts and
A kiss for the Miss?
There's still an entire day,
so, Cupid, don't waste it away,
I really do love Valentine's Day.

Okay,
so I've let you go,
and I'm oddly calm about it,
no freaky heart about it,
no hyperventilation, over-exaggeration
no panicking and crying on the floor about it
I think maybe I'm okay
I think maybe that today
it is safe to say
that I'm moving on
from you.
And thank you, dear sir, thank you
You opened my eyes to so much of the world
You showed me love, and you showed me heartbreak
So thank you, dear sir, yes, thank you,
And feel free to stop by again
someday.
You have a place in my heart, a special place, always;
You're welcome here, always
I'm not mad at you, I swear
Am I sad, au contraire!
I think that I feel rather freed...
Leaving me without a goodbye
Left me on the floor, feeling like I might die
All I really needed was some closure
So, thank you, dear sir, thank you
For tossing this gal one last word.

What is poetry? Is it music? Is it love? Is it boring? Is it magic?
Poetry, to me, is medicine.
Reading it is like my grandmother rubbing a soothing balm across my wounds. Writing it is like crying: the tears that never leave my eyes leave my pen instead, trailing across the page to bleed in ways that would **** me if the ink were blood from my body.

I'm just so tired of being so strong,
and the secret is that I really just want to break.

I have a secret:
I am self-destructing.
No!
Don't tell!
Please, just let me go...
if I can't save myself.
You see, the demon in my head is controlling my limbs again,
but I know I can fight him if I really try.
Yes, he makes me bleed and he makes me cry,
but I swear he will never make me die.
I can fight this *******, the terrible beast,
you'll see.
Just don't tell, okay? Don't tell
the world that I'm self-destructing.

We said that we would fix each other,
and we did...
but we fussed too much over the hairline cracks that remained
And we broke each other again and again.

Red is the color of anger
That burns and boils and bubbles
It seethes and seems to soak into beauty
It is cold and fierce and fiery
And ironically
*red is the color of love