I tried keeping my love to myself and it left me empty-

Bottling up all I have left me heavy.

The weight anchored me to a quiet ocean floor beyond the sunlight.

So I took my love and divided it up in ways I can give to everyone-

The corny yet punny sense of humor, the hand to hold, the advice even when you don't want it, the adventure seeker, the invested listening, the lover, the 2 am "I'm thinking too much my heart might implode" texter, the hopeful disposition, the empathy, the person you can call only when you need.

I learned that keeping all my love kept me in the dark,

And giving it all to one left me eventually alone.

I learned that in order to float back up from the depths, I had to love far and wide;

I learned that this is how I must be to stay alive.

Some things remain-

Summer storms remind me of you,
And if I play the right music I fall in sync with the rhythm and let my heart dance to the tune of you and me, the songs my heartstrings would play when your fingers strummed them so.

I find myself pulled off to sides of roads
Either immersed in poetry for the ghost of us or immersed in my mind where your ghost resides and sometimes haunts me with the irrational notion that I lost the best.

I find the things I'd like to share with you
And find myself untyping the message to let you know because you'll read it but you won't read into it. In between the lines of it all, it simply says "I miss you."

I curse the way my heart curves
Around your figure and around what was, around what could've been and what was lost. I curse the way I find my heart still shamelessly open to yours.

Some things remain,
And I curse myself for merely wishing you had.

how is it that i nurtured my heart and made it so,
cohabitated with it and let it grow,
yet even if i needed it and it needed me,
my ribcage was a cage and my heart just wanted to be free

among the wildflowers and fresh air,
along the skylines without a care,
amidst the sea and between the stars,
why is it that my heart and body feel so far

my heart can't stay in this cage for long
because it can't continue to sing the same song-
my heart outgrew it's home and flew away,
my heart was never meant to stay

my heart was never mine nor will never be,
only this i am sure of you see-
my heart can't rest easy in this ribcage home,
because here it feels so alone

it belongs among the trees and sea,
it belongs among the world in front of me.
my heart never belonged to the structure of my bones-
for here it felt heavy as stone

my heart is wild and angsty and true-
it feeds off of sunlight and new views.
my heart stopped beating because of rushing blood,
but beat only at the sight of a rising sun

The ink is dry and the pages are turned,
The words have been said, our candle has burned

Down to the bare wick, wax creating pools upon the floor-
Burning into the night until no more.

Burning fuel and fire until it was gone,
Continuing on until we realized it was wrong

To light a match to a candle that would soon cease,
One that wouldn't light us to a path of ease.

The candle blew out, the place became cold,
As did my hands when they had nothing to hold.

You blew out my flame, a fire in my eyes-
All you had to do was say your goodbyes.

Surely the sunrise is enough light for me to see,
But the nighttime leaves me blind as could be-

I am blinded by the "miss you's" and the forgotten calls
Of when I answered and began to fall.

Surely the sunrise is a sign of a new day,
Thought what isn't new is what I continue to say-

Of course I miss you, of course I care,
Yet telling you would elicit a blank stare.

I know what we are, I know where we stand,
Though I bet sometimes you miss the touch of my hands.

My hands don't matter though,
And coming up empty handed is how I show

That the feeling of you slipping through my fingers
Will be the only trace of you that will ever linger.

As a writer, meeting someone that left me at a loss for words says more about him than I ever could.

And if my kid ever comes to me with tear stained cheeks because they loved someone too much,
They love like I do,
I'll hold them and say,

"Baby, your heart is big enough for the two of us, like the popcorn bucket at the movies-
It's absolutely HUGE:
Surely you could share it with just about everyone in the theater, but you'll be left with nothing.
Yes, sharing is good. But you can't deal out your heart like a deck of cards to people with flimsy hands who can't grasp what you deliver.

Baby, you love entirely. Your whole soul loves the way the ocean envelopes the sand during high tide. You wash over the beaches and create storms that can scare people away. Baby, someone will see the calm in your storm and stay. I promise.

Baby, you love deeply. Yet again you are an ocean and not everyone can dive deep down like you do. The snorkel set will do no justice for the depths your heart reaches. Wait for a deep diver who isn't afraid of the dark, when your darkest parts come to light and your deep diver sees you for who you are. Wait for the person who is going to shine a light and create a new current in your life.

Baby, you gotta open up your heart but know when to shut it. You don't deserve anything less than the best. Forget what people say, remember what you feel. You have a heart of pure gold and no fool deserves to eye at it. You deserve someone who is going to love you like you love them, or someone who will teach you that love is more than what you already know. Love those who love you back my dear.

Speaking of shutting, don't ever think shutting everyone out means you'll be safe. Life is meant for love. So don't cork off like those little model ships in bottles. You know what a ship is good for? Sailing. Send your heart sailing through all the turmoil until you see the horizon. You know what your heart is good for? Loving. Don't bottle yourself up baby.

My baby, you're going to mess up. Someone you love will mess up too. Love them through the mess, hug it out and move on. Let love be what gets you through the scrapes and cuts when you fall down or trip over trivial tribulations.

Baby, as much as you love others, you gotta love yourself. You gotta love your toes and your limbs, your eyes and your lungs. You have to love your brain and veins, your skin and your self. No one will ever be able to love you the way you should love yourself, not even me sweet pea. Love you the way you want to be loved.

And baby, you'll get hurt. Love again. Love love love. Love until it's a native language you can only show people. Love until it's a language you know fluently. Love until it is your creed, your life, your way. Love is loving yourself, to fight for what you deserve, fighting alongside people that you love, and always loving with all you got. Baby, love the only way we have ever know-

Wholly, genuinely, openly, loudly.

Just love baby, love the way I love you."

Honesty is the best policy,
One we've chosen to abstain.
Honestly I'd rather you be honest with me;
Walking on eggshells we could refrain.

Tiptoeing around so we don't step upon the cracks in our floors,
Holding our breath tight so we don't breath in the thick truth-
God forbid we just speak honestly anymore,
God forbid we let all of the unsaid thoughts loose.

Honestly I can't say I know you like I once did,
And that's absolute fact.
All because we have absolutely forbid
Ourselves from a backtrack-

Backtracking to when we could actually talk without thinking before speaking
Or worrying about what we have said.
No worries of the truth leaking
From our honest hearts and heads.

I don't want your meaningless quips,
Your aimless remarks.
I prefered the small notes on slips,
Our conversations in the dark.

Honesty is the best policy,
A policy we tried and found true-
A policy we have declined to upkeep,
A policy we once knew.

She'll flinch at your hands moving from her waist to her lower back, back up to her neck and cheeks because it's been some time since she's been caressed by hands that are wandering to remember old terrain.

Try to decipher the goosebumps on her arms and thighs like Braille with your fingertips. What do you read? "I missed you"? "Don't go again"? "Stay"?

Maybe she won't meet your gaze immediately. It's oddly scary to look someone in the eye when you've seen them go dull from too much heartache. Instead, close your eyes and lean in. She'll close hers too, and you can feel the sadness melt away when your lips are almost close enough to hers.

She'll gasp ever so slightly when you finally kiss her. It'll feel like electricity in your lips and she'll be dizzy from anticipating this moment for so long. Her lips have lingered on coffee mugs and beer bottles, but haven't been warmed by another pair since you left. Reignite them with your own.

Hold her close and kiss what you can. She's timid but so lifted by the fact that you're here in her embrace. If she holds you too tightly, allow her this once. She's trying to make sure this isn't another one of her far fetched dreams that wake her in the morning.

She may be rough and kiss too hard, too fast. It won't always be like this, but she isn't sure if she'll be afforded the opportunity to feel your kiss again. She's feeding a hunger that's been growing since you said good bye.

If she clings to your frame when you say good night, whisper softly into her ear about how you'll be back. Come back, and kiss her again. Kiss her until you forget what day it is and how long it had been since you last kissed her. Kiss her good night but not good bye because there's a difference between the two and trust me, she knows. She knows the difference because you've kissed good bye before, and a good night would simply constitute to finding you once again.

Now that we speak again, it's only surface level-

"How was your trip?"
"That's cool, hope you had fun!"
"Hey what's up?"

A text here and a text there, fleeting eye contact and minimal genuine conversation keep our casualties down. We've already had so many when we attempted to dive deeper.

I sometimes swam in the blue of your eyes and swam alone when you left. I swam until my lungs gave out and I had to hit the bottom to know that I can only skim your surface at this rate.

Diving into your eyes didn't even take a second thought but left me with a thousand when not even your lips could convey what your eyes did-

Your hands and words and actions didn't say much about your love but your eyes did. They gave you away every time. Your eyes said it all and I'm trying to do the same now.

I'm sure my depths were dark and deep, too deep for you to endure. You're a shallow swimmer yet I almost made you learn how to swim by allowing you to love a girl like me by throwing you into the deep end of my mind where all the darker thoughts reside.

So now that we speak again, and you aren't struggling to stay afloat in some else's storm, I'll skim your surface and you skim mine.

"Hey how are you?" You might ask.

"I'm fine" I'll say.

Beyond the surface level I really am, because I know that you're only on the surface and that's far enough away from any of my demons to pull you down with them.

It feels so good to pour you out of my heart like a tipping pitcher-
At first, droplets. Then the entire wave.

I started small, dropping drips of you into my subconscious or even the bottom wells of where I care for people.

Eventually the drops became consistent, streaming into a stream of "I'm okay without you" and "I don't need you to love me".

The wave sloshed out of the pitcher when I decided I was happier holding myself above your love, the wave washed over any notion that maybe your love would somehow replace the lacking love I had for myself.

I poured you out and let the emptiness just be for once, and now I have an open spot where my own self love and support can become a sea that I can sail endlessly.

I used to think keeping your love within the walls of my pitcher heart would keep you 'round but really you ended up tipping me over the edge and I spilled out myself, made a mess and had to pick up my tear-soaked soul.

I had to look at why I would ever pour out all I am for someone like you, who could only pour out so much. I am full to the brim with love and I create a sea of it for people who don't know how to swim.

Pouring you out of my heart took time and patience, though I can see clearly you're on dry land now and I'd rather you rest easy as opposed to drowning in what someone else might be able to tread.

So I'm filling my heart back up and so far it feels pretty full. The pitcher doesn't leak now that I've patched up where you left cracks and dents. I've sealed the leaks with all you couldn't be-

My own self love, meandering the record store alone, buying myself the sunflowers and dark chocolate, putting on the dress because I want to look beautiful, holding my own hand when I feel lonesome, and telling myself that losing you only means my heart is open and vast like the sea.

My heart once poured out for you and like a cloud you can't return the rain, but I don't want to return what I poured out anyway. It was meant for you.

I'm a girl with a pitcher heart gathering what it is I'd like to pour out for someone else when the time is right. Instead of feeling like he's drowning in my monsoon love, he might think I'm the lemonade and pool on a hot summer day- refreshing, quenching, sweet and worth diving into.

So though you tipped me over, spilled me completely, you just left me empty enough to learn how to fill myself back up. Pouring you out of my heart felt so good when I came to see that you're a shallow swimmer who is afraid of depth,

And I simply figured my love for you was too deep to dive into.

I don't have enough peace of mind because I know that people I love and so many more have been ***** or assaulted.

9. I don't have enough time to tell you why **** culture perpetuates that my hemline means I'm asking for it.

8. I don't have enough ignorance to somehow accept and laugh at a **** joke.

7. I don't have enough tolerance for "we were wasted" and "she didn't say no".

6. I don't have enough audacity to ask people what they were wearing, if they were sober, if they had yelled for help, if they had said no when they were attacked. A victim is a victim.

5. I don't have enough strength to give to people who have been hurt like this- all the strength in the world sometimes is not enough.

4. I don't have enough comfort for people who have been hurt like this- how do you comfort someone who has been hurt in such a demeaning, invasive way? Is there comfort at all?

3. I don't have enough voice from my lungs to yell about why we need to teach our sons and daughters about what it means to consent, what it means to respect another human.

2. I don't have enough support for the people that come forward, yet I also don't have enough sympathy for the people that are too petrified.

1. I don't have enough words for how much my heart aches for survivors, and how much hope I have for the people out there who persevere and overcome what has happened to them.

For every reason I gave, I also know a person who has been assaulted or *****. Try to give me 10 reasons why I shouldn't put up a fight against **** and **** culture, against respecting others, against people who attack others. Try to give me 10 reasons why I shouldn't speak on behalf of people who sometimes spoke but were not heard by a blatant disregarding partner, stranger, neighbor, relative, parent, sibling, best friend, co worker, acquaintance. Try giving your 10 reasons to the 10 girls I know and then the 10 girls and even guys they know. Try telling a survivor that they asked for it, they wanted it, they should get over it, they should dress differently, they should let it go.

*I do not have enough fingers to count off the people I know that have been ***** or assaulted but I have enough humanity in me to fight the people that made me start counting in the first place.

Today it hit me that you saved my life,
And I cried.

It hit me that out love never coincided-
I wanted passion, you wanted respect.

I understood that your love
Was intended to support me

Until I could support myself-
Then, it would disappear.

My love prevailed and probably
Will until I die;

You don't stop loving someone
Just because you said good bye.

Our love didn't coincide,
And realizing that helped me see

That it never will.
You will always be you,

I will forever be me,
And we won't be an "us"

Or a "we" ever again.
Our love didn't coincide,

And understanding
Set me free

This is the time to find ourselves,
To stay up too late on the phone but wake up early to still watch the sunrise.
This is the time to be stupid and ignorant so we can learn.
This is our time to grow from childish mistakes and moments of self doubt.
This is inevitably the time to realize that the rest of our lives lay ahead of us and there are endless possibilities.
Now is the time for kissing the wrong people and crying about it later.
Now is the time for road trips and long conversations to take up the time.
It is time to jump off the cliffs and make your heart race so fast you can hear it.
Now is the time to be free and young and open and wide-eyed.
Now is the time to explore yourself and your beautiful world around you.
It is time. We only have so much of it. You don't need another person occupying yours, I promise. You need your own self admiration and love, your own sense of exploration and curiosity.
You may find someone and that's beautiful.
Loving someone is a beautiful thing, but remember that loving yourself comes first.
Remember that people come and go. Accept it.
You have to let them go as do they with you. It will always hurt. You may want to crawl back.
Hesitate. Make sure you know what you need, not what you simply want.
Make sure you understand that the time is always now, and you need yourself to utilize it.
You need you. Be there for yourself. Be your own best friend. Be your own role model. Be all you can be.
When should you start all this?
Now.

The seasons are changing, am I allowed to change with them?
Can I bloom like the flowers do?
Or am I stuck in winter's shade where things cease to grow?
That's how it feels, trying to get over you.

Old ballet shoes,
Yearbooks with letters wedged into the cracks promising friendship until the end of time.

The yearbook signatures that promised to call or catch up,
and the signatures that actually should have ended with "good bye".

Children's books and children's clothing,
Tiny t-shirts and itty bitty shorts.

Ticket stubs and concert tickets,
ID cards and senior portraits.

Long lost poetry and crinkled letters
To boys I thought I'd love beyond the time I did.

Photographs of us in our youth
And some of us apart, outgrowing each other.

Homework from freshman year,
Art projects I thought deserved life beyond the magnets on the kitchen fridge.

Baby blankets and old rosaries
for when I thought Jesus could keep my faith in all that's good.

Books I haven't read in years
that still make me smile when I roll my fingers down the spine.

My grandpa's memorial announcement
and his old fishing hat.

The CD's we used to make dances to,
and perform for ourselves in my old costumes.

Friendship bracelets from girl's names I can't remember,
and friendships I lost
Numerous diaries with long entries about being older,
and how someday older will be better,

How age will bring me adventure, maturity, love, resolution, clarity, a sense of myself, happiness.
Here I am with more age, and these endless memories make me wish for the time when I could still fit into the little shorts and stick my tongue out in pictures.

The someday I wrote of is today
and I'm teary-eyed over what used to be.

I'm missing the old you and the old memories,
the old friends and the old ways of happiness.

I'm here, older now,
and I wish I knew if older was better.

Who are you to advise who I should be?
Why have I been told to not be who I am?

Do not pursue teaching, you'll work a luckless and poor career. You'll devote your life to an occupation that won't put food on your table, you better marry rich Megan.

Do not love like you do, it's is overwhelming. It is too intense, too encompassing. It is the ocean- unpredictable and vast. Do not love me like that, I can't handle your love. Do not cry oceans, do not have streams down your cheeks. Do not feel, do not express yourself. Please don't.

Do not love who you want to love. It is too difficult to explain, accept and live with the fact that you may love someone with the same chromosomes as you.

Do not dance at your leisure, you cannot hold the beat or sway to the rhythm. There is a time and place for expressing your joys, remember that.

Do not cut your hair for it was so beautiful when in cascaded down your back.

Do not pierces your nose, people don't like metal in your nostril and god forbid you puncture a hole and stick a diamond in your pretty face.

Do not wear the short shorts, the baggy tshirts, the sandals with socks, the buns on the sides of your head, the face make up. You know those all mean you want it, you're lazy, you're unfashionable, you're a wanna-be, you're a try-hard who cares too much.

Who decided one day I couldn't be who I was born to be? Who decided I wasn't able to being myself and being okay as is?

Today I decided I will be the high school English teacher and I will change lives with my big heart and encompassing love. I will inspire through my educating hands and words. I will love who I love with all I have in my soul. I will dance in dead silence, in the rain and in the middle of a song. I cut my hair and it'll grow back. It always does. Metal in my nose made me no less beautiful, I was beautiful before it and I can be beautiful without it. I will wear the ******* shorts and let my thighs shake, I will do my hair as I please, I will wear the baggy tshirts because they are comfortable, I will wear and say and do and be whoever I want to be.

I am a combination of atoms and particles made from stardust and centuries before me. I am made of hope, acceptance, knowledge and ultimate love for myself and others. I am made of spontaneity and the daring risk to be who I am meant to be, I am infinite and you cannot bottle up stardust. You cannot contain me with your mere words.

Who are you to tell me who to be? Who am I to accept that? Who am I to let you tell me anything about my bones and brain, my mind and soul? Who am I?

You only wish you knew.

I feel like you're my baby blanket or the socks from when I was 3,
The children's book I loved when I was 6 or the jump rope from when I was 10.

You're the diary from middle school and the pressed flowers from bike rides through fields when I was 13,

You're the photo booth strips from the movie dates and all the wallets of my friends from senior year;

I always look back on you with a fondness and a melancholy, a nostalgia with heart and ache-

I want to go back but I know that time is gone and over, and it's for the best. I want to go back but I know it doesn't exist anymore, like us. I miss you but I know that I'm here now and you're there now so I keep going but like the flowers and socks and wallets, I'll always have a nostalgia, just for you.

I didn't know my heart strings could extend from the ribcage and attach to the corners of my lips.

This might be why it's so hard to smile and laugh when my heart feels like it's impaired and laden with tears and rips.

moving on came full circle when I finally stopped walking cirles around you in my dreams,

and started treading my own path, started unsewing your thread tangled in my heartstrings

we at least smile in photos, for quick flashes and seconds-

my want for a happy family never comes true, though my hope is continually beckoned

I wanted you to care so badly about me that I forgot to care about myself.

How is it that you still continue to care less, and continuing to care for you is something I can't even help?

I could love your soul until you're 90 and wrinkled.
I could kiss as your fingertips and plant stars in them, then watch you paint the sky.
I could find you crying alone and I'd still think you're cute, snot and everything.
I could show you my life and where I've been, what I've seen and who I've met.
I could take a walk on your side and see you past cracks and crevices where tribulations and heart ache made their marks.
I could dip my toe into your pool of affection, then dive right.
I could swim the sea of blankets and sighs until you're begging.
I could push your buttons and then undo them on your shirt once we make up.
I could learn the curves of your mind and the twists in your thoughts, and understand what's going on inside of your head.
I could make you laugh so hard, either at my expense or maybe your own, that you cry. I promise I'll at least try.
I could hold you when it's cold and when your heart plays along.
I could support you when and where you need it- $5, a shoulder to lean on, someone to drag you to bed when you're too drunk.
I could find you in a crowded room and still think you're as beautiful as ever compared to anyone I'll ever meet.

I could be that for you, I most definitely could.

I touched skin I used to know and tasted lips I used to crave.

Little did I know that letting you back in simply meant my backbone had caved.

I used to think you couldn't love me as much as I needed,
But you did when you told me to leave and find someone else who would do the things you couldn't.

Love isn't always blatant or obvious, it isn't always being together and "I love you".

Losing you felt a lot like lost love,
But I suppose it just meant you loved me enough to not let me wait for you when you knew you couldn't be what I needed.

Thank you, I love you too.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy from unrequited love,
Or from love letters with "return to sender" staining the front in dark, black ink over your own meticulously crafted words.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy from holding onto lost causes,
And too full from tears and whispered curses when you're holding yourself at 2 am.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy when you lose someone else's,
Or when you see them walking down the street hand in and hand with another and you might just hold your own so that you don't feel too lonesome.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy with the weight of the world
And everything you've ever felt too strongly about.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy with regret or hatred
Towards anyone who did you wrong and left you heavy hearted in the first place.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy-
It'll weigh you down to the notion that you can't reopen it once the incisions have healed.

Make sure your heart isn't so heavy
That you fall to it's weight and forget what it means to be light.

Make sure your heart isn't heavy-
It'll lift you in more ways than one.

I write poems for boys who don't even respond to my texts.

I rip my heart in half for people who see a pathway and walk through like it was meant for them to tread and leave their footprints.

I open my mouth to pour out affection and you keep yours in a thin line that does not even budge when I tell you I just want to be with you.

I lose sleep over someone who rolls over the thought of me naked but not the thought of how I look when I'm contemplating or surprised or even belligerently, stupidly angry.

I put trust in you and you boomerang it back, dented and fraying while you tuck yours into your back pocket and save it for someone else.

I carve out time for someone who carves out time within the free time and spare seconds rather than simply making time in the first place.

I write poems about boys who can't even respond to my texts but read them anyway so I'll read my poems and you read my texts and one day maybe you'll wake up with a hollow feeling in your heart and it'll feel that way because by then I'll have stopped writing you, texting and trusting and yearning for your fingertips to trace my lips and your thoughts to coincide with mine and have you want to be inside my head so much it burns and maybe in between my sheets even more.

Mmm wishin I was sleeping under the stars in someone's arms and living in the now, not in my math class or my empty bedroom or my part time job. I'm wishin I was driving down the coast where the ocean is as vast as the possibilities ahead of me. I'm hopin I'll wake up in a new city with a camera and suitable walking shoes so I can meander and document my days the way they should be. Really just hopin to break the cycle and find myself so engrossed with travel and bliss and love for what's happening in the moment and embracing it for what it is. I'm needin the sunshine and skinny dipping by moonlight and reading big books under trees and singing my favorite songs with a big, real smile on my face. I'm wishin the woods could be my home and the stars could be my map to happiness and your hands could teach me a thing or two. I want to kiss the sunsets and chase them down and wake up the next day to endless opportunities and sheer appreciation for what I'm afforded- a new, fresh day to experience and be present and learn, grow and understand this eccentric and ever-changing world that somehow stole my heart before anyone else could.

I should've known better-
Answering those texts really just meant
I was answering a call to getting my heart broken all over again.

I shouldn't be so insecure or meek-
Yet here I am crying in the garage with your stupid sweatshirt,
All because I know I feel galaxies for you and maybe I'm just one star in your sky.

I shouldn't feed into whatever we have going-
It's going to eat me alive and no exaggeration,
I feel like you'll swallow my heart whole.

I shouldn't have let you into my bloodstream,
I shouldn't have let you sleep in my bed,
I shouldn't have kissed you so hard.

I shouldn't give you the upper hand,
I shouldn't want to be in your arms,
I shouldn't let you into my head.

I shouldn't write this poem when it boils down to it-
It solidifies that you have something over me,
And it makes me feel miserably powerless.

You should know better-
Someday you get to walk away with a novel about yourself
Because writers only write about people they care about.

I always knew
I would be left with ink-stained hands
And a heart stained by loving you.

You should know
That loving you
Is something I should forget how to do.

I tried to be stone so I would be invincible to anything that came my way.

I wouldn't sway with the wind like tree branches do, or uproot completely when gale force winds blow through.

I wouldn't burn at the touch or fire and crumble into charred black dust.

I wouldn't freeze over in the snow, even if it covered me whole.

Mother Nature has nothing on your hands though;

You came at me with a chisel and hammer and decided to carve into my granite veins again and call me your personal masterpiece.

You carved yourself a niche in my stature and made me into someone dented by your meticulous hands.

You cut jagged edges and smoothed them round, ******* at every detail and feeling for bumps to smooth away.

I made myself stone so you couldn't get into me, not even if you tried.

Yet here we are with my carved heart and your worn chisel and hammer by your side.

You hit a little too hard this time and the cracks have already formed;

I can feel the wind blow through me and the snow settle into the cracks just waiting for the fire to melt it.

Someday you'll put the chisel and hammer down because working at stone like me is tiresome.

That, and by the end of all this I'll be broken stone around your feet.

Artists finish their pieces, and you finished me by hitting too hard and cracking me completely.

You leave me wanting to dance and cry and write endless stanzas about your arms and lose sleep because you're keeping me awake with your words and warm lips. You leave me hopeless but I feel itty bits of hope regardless because your eyes remind me that there is more than meets the eye; they're blue like me when you're gone but so forgiving when I come back. I want to tear you apart and inject you into my own open veins. I want to walk away yet I walk in a circle right back to you. You're going to build me up so I can fall so hard later on but the free fall might just be worth it. The rush of the fall makes my blood boil the same way your hands in my hair does. The rush of air from falling cools the back of my neck where the hairs stand up whenever you draw circles on my skin with your fingertips. Don't let me fight a battle worth letting rest instead. Don't let me fight for you if you know you'll end up putting your knife through my heart in ways that can't be fixed with needles and thread. You leave me wanting you and I can't have you leaving me until you have to. Don't let me fight for you unless you'll fight with me. Please don't fight how you feel, be vulnerable like me and fall again. We'll leave bruised and aching but the free fall feels like the breeze in summer and water rushing over your warm body. I'll wash over you while I'm here and cleanse your eyes when I leave. It feels like euphoria when you kiss me. Don't let me fight alone.

I don't get angry when the sunset eases into nightfall,
Or when my dreams end because my eyelids have opened.

I don't feel utter sadness when these beautiful things suddenly stop-
I know these moments are ephemeral and they will all come to an end.

Despite knowing that,
I don't curse the course of life.

Instead I embrace it-
I take these fleeting, beautiful moments for what they are worth.

I should stop being so angry that we ended,
And be thankful for what was instead.

You may have been the sun setting in my sky,
You may have been in my dreams,

But your absence allowed for my stars to shine brighter
And guide me somewhere where dreams were not just for sleep.

I made your slip up seem like a complete down fall, and I am sorry.
I spit words from the bottom of my heart where the anger sinks and the hurt resides, and I am sorry.
I hurt you when you were already hurting, and I am sorry.

Scientifically, we are made up of a combination of atoms that somehow resulted in spinning minds and thirsty hearts, soft skin and aching bones.

I heard somewhere that if the atoms of an object could spread far enough apart, we could pass through anything.

If we are merely atoms, I suppose I spread mine so far that you passed through me.

You came through me, you hit my bloodstream and God was it a rush.

My atoms reacted with yours and it felt like they started to merge into one.

I felt you become a part of my spinning mind, my thirsty heart, my soft skin and my aching bones.

I spread myself so far so that you could really see who I was and before I knew it you had passed through me.

My atoms are tinged with specks of yours and I can't get you out of what makes up who I am.

This is why I miss you with all that I have.

I told myself I would write you out of me like ******* venom out of a vein-

With every letter upon the page it felt like I was pulling bits of you out of my bloodstream.

But then I wake up to streaked walls and I realized you're smeared everywhere-

You're a spilled ink bottle upon pages and pages of my life and you're bleeding into the rest of my book.

You're splattered across my walls and waking up to the stains within my room leaves me stained too-

I walk around seeing you in so much that I do.

My eyes are stained with the tint of your affection and I find it glimmering in every thing I see.

The splatters are still wet upon my walls, the ink hasn't dried upon my pages.

Everything I feel for you hasn't died yet.

How foolish was I to think that spilling my heart and ink about you would somehow get you to leave.

You're dripping from my eyes, from my pen and my veins.

I hoped this would get you out of me,

But every drip hits the ground and splatters out to the walls.

I haven't seen you in so long,

But I still see you stained upon my walls into what is a masterpiece of attempting to rid myself of you.

You're still in my ink, you're still in my veins.

You're now everywhere else too.

When can I escape you?

Your veins allure me,
The way they create currents in your skin
Along your arms.
I ponder what makes your heart beat so fast
That blood pumps through them faster than it should.
Where have you been cut?
Can I slide into one of the slices so I can swim your veins
And be a part of you?
Can I nest in your heart and make a home there?
You've got permanent residence in mine,
Because have you seen yourself?
You're as beautiful as the sunsets and oceans and trees and beyond what the all magazines say.
You're as alluring as the veins in your arms that rise up in your skin.
Let me in, let me swim your veins and mind.
Can I make your blood pump?
Will your veined arms hold me?
I'd let you into my blood stream
If you'd let me into yours.
Can I make your blood pump?
The way you have no idea you're utterly breathtaking sure gets mine flowing.
If you ever feel a slice again,
I'll kiss at it until you've healed
And I'll show you my scars too.
Your veins allure me,
But dear, the rest of you keeps me 'round.
When you're ready, I'd love to trace your veins with my fingertips
And then my lips.

A year ago I would've killed to have you say "miss you",
But now you're too busy killing your liver to even remember our last conversation.

A year ago I could have listened to you talk for days,
But now I listen to your slurred speech and you covering the phone to answer someone else.

A year ago I would have taken every call from you,
But now I take them so I know you're simply still somehow alive.

A year ago I did miss you,
Now that's the person I still miss, if I even ever come close to actually feeling for you.

A year ago my grandma said you would someday miss me as she wiped tears from my eyes.
Now it's that someday she spoke of and I can only wonder how drunk you may be.

A year ago you missed me by not caring;
Now I'm returning the favor.

I stopped looking for you in my sheets and dreams and finally found rest.
I stopped looking for you in coffee shops and lost myself in the simple joy of solitude and tea.
I stopped searching for your car as I drove around town because I'm too busy singing over the radio with the windows down.
I stopped telling stories about us because I'm busy creating new ones.
I stopped the salt water trails awhile ago with the dimples in my cheeks when I realized that there is still a lot to smile about.
I stopped hoping this wasn't actually the end because it was actually just the beginning.
I've also got to stop writing about you, because your page in my book is full and if I keep writing about you, I'm just scribbling over old entires.
It's time I stop rereading the chapter of you.

I spent too much on the ticket,
Spent more than I should on a fare.
I spent too long en route,
Too long on a plane in the air.

I touched down and felt my temples pulse,
My body stiff from sitting for so long-
I didn't know if this would be worth it,
Nor did I know if I'd been wrong.

Was this worth the effort?
Was this worth the time?
My questions had answers
When I finally saw your eyes shine-

In an airport terminal,
Across the way from me.
The tickets didn't matter,
Nor did my sore body.

The distance disappeared,
Your hands found my frame-
You're holding me and you whisper,
*"I'm so glad you came."

Sheepishly, pathetically still writing about you and it is just who I am.

I am the girl who clings until I see you clinging to someone else.

It was programmed into my DNA, my veins and skin to love you until I am assured you do not even think of me, not even by accident in your sleep.

It was programmed into my heart to pour out affection even if it meant spilling out like a full glass knocked off of a table, making a scene and a mess to clean up later.

I don't know any other way to move on than to write. I can't fathom making it out of this without pen and ink, sadly at your expense.

Ink is in my veins and you were once too.

I'll try bleeding you out on paper in hopes that some odd number of poems later, you'll be mere rhymes and word play.

Writing about you is all I have left and I hope it's all that is left of you in me.

I know you're far and can't be reached so I hope these poems and words are like pulling rocks out of my shoes and pockets so I don't feel weighted down by the thought that you've moved on and I haven't.

Don't mistake these words for an attempt to keep you around. I'm trying to get you out, one ink stain dripping out of a sliced vein at a time.

Progress is slow, and if I am not patient or kind to myself in the process of progressing, I will cease to make any.

Progress appears more and more over time. If I don't give it time, I will have squandered any chances of moving forward.

Some moments I miss you miserably and others I feel you slip away even more.
Most morning you're the first thing on my mind.
I wonder how far gone you are and how close to someone else you could be.
I wonder if rain on your window reminds you of that one kiss because I still think about it.
Hopefully writing about it doesn't make me too weird.
I promise I've tried to let go. You keep coming back though.
And maybe you're feeling the breeze on your neck and you notice the flowers blooming and you feel yourself become lighter with all this freedoms
Then again you're so practical. I assume you don't look at freedom like that.
But maybe you at least feel renewed and ready to be all you can be.
Maybe you feel a sense of yourself, maybe you feel like you can make the most of who you are.
If you're with her, all I'm hoping is that you don't use her. I'm not implying you won't move on, but being by yourself helps. Sometime it helps more than another pair of lips on yours.
If you find her's taste like mine, stop.
If not, I only hope they make you smile mid kiss.
This is a moment when I miss you miserably.
The rain is hitting the window and it makes me miss your embrace, your patience and your eyes.
I miss you a lot but I am trying very hard to give myself a fair shot at this.
I'm trying to be on my own.
But if I find I am doing all I can and I still wake up to thoughts of you,
And I find that the rain still makes me think of you,
And how comforters remind me of laying around in your arms,
And how everyone somehow ******* reminds me of you,
I should be stupid and crazy and come back and try my hardest to somehow convince you I'm worth it.
I don't expect you to wait. I respect that you could be so far gone that coming back would hurt too much.
But if you're waking up to thoughts of me too,
All I ought to think of are ways to find you in this mess I made.

If you're waking up to thoughts of me,
We ought to just wake up to each other instead.

Waking up every morning with you on my mind weighs me down,
Anchors me to my bed and sheets
Because at this rate,
This is the only time we will ever meet.

I miss the way your hair felt
Between my fingers
And the way you kissed my neck;
Everything continues to linger.

Whether it be how your smile
Took up your face
Or how your hands always found mine,
You're impossible to replace.

I wake up with thoughts
Of your real laugh
Or how your hands knew my body
Without having ever looked at a map.

I wake up tangled
In sheets that cannot rival your embrace.
I wake up saddened
That I'm not waking up to your face.

I wake up tangled
In my mind because losing you
Was so much more than a hand to hold-
That I always knew.

Losing you meant
Losing sleep and time
To pondering over
How I let you slip from being mine.

The sun comes up,
As do my eyelids and chest-
I wish the thoughts of you
Didn't come also, and would rather rest.

I tell myself to go to bed
Just one more time.
But so far, inevitably,
You are still on my mind.

I'm always excited to see girls be open with sexuality and ***. Why? It's refreshing and empowering that a woman can say, "I enjoy ***." It seems so simple and trivial but the stigma that guys can get it in all they want and girls cannot for fear of being "easy", "loose" or "slutty" is frustrating.

I always felt like I had to keep quiet about what I liked and didn't like because that's what girls did; keep quiet while the guys can go on for days about all the *** they got. Boys could high five and congratulate each other like they had made a conquest whereas girls could whisper or keep quiet all together.

As a girl, I felt like opening up about *** would make me unworthy of respect because somehow my ****** experiences, or even a lack thereof, could determine my worth or how much respect I deserved from my peers. I felt like exploring sexuality somehow meant, in the eyes of others, that I didn't "respect" myself. But let us not forget that boys somehow earn respect for having ***. How can that be okay? I lose respect but guys earn it? It's ridiculous to me.

I grew up thinking I would be shunned for losing my virginity to my longtime boyfriend at 16 years old. Granted I wasn't mature enough for that at that age, but I didn't even tell my best friends until a year later. The culture and mentality that women cannot or should not be vocal about *** and sexuality is belittling and suffocating.

So for the record, *** is awesome. As a girl, I don't have any shame in enjoying ***. I used to, and maybe it's a little rash to use social media to rant about something like this, but that's simply how I feel. I'm not stating that people who are quiet about *** are wrong, because not everyone is comfortable talking openly about *** and that's TOTALLY FINE. What is not fine is the notion that girls cannot or should not be able to talk openly about *** without being called names or being scoffed at.

Society tells me that if I sleep around, I'm a ***** or a ****. Frankly I'll sleep around all I want, if I want, when I want. I'll still sleep easy after. I am comfortable in my own skin, I am comfortable in someone else's bed. I couldn't give a **** about what anyone has to say about me, my stance on this topic or my openness towards ***.

All I have to say is that I enjoy ***. You can get used to your hand if you have the audacity to call me anything other than my name for saying so.

Losing people can
Be like losing a blindfold;
Once they're gone, you can see.

Losing people will
Cleanse your eyes,
But furthermore, cleanse your sight.

Losing people sometimes
Allows you to see
That you lost yourself in finding them.

Losing people sometimes
Means you can find someone better;
I hope you find yourself.

"The Earth laughs in flowers."
-Ralph Waldo-Emerson*

Maybe that's why,
in my dreams,
we are always in a garden-

You could always make me laugh.
You left me with
Smiles blooming upon my lips.

I wished I was the sheets around your ankles,
The shirt on your back,
The jeans that hugged your hips.

I wished to be your morning tea,
The steering wheel you'd hold,
The knobs of your doors you would twist.

I wanted to be with you,
To have you touch me
And hold me,

So much that I envied this
Little, trivial objects;
I just wanted your presence in any way I could have it.

I learned that those little things
Sometimes go unappreciated,
Sometimes go unnoticed and unattended to.

I stopped wishing to be
All those things
When I understood that maybe that's how you saw me.

This is not a poem.
This is an overview of my day.
Today I told my ex boyfriend off because he didn't value me the way I deserved. I'll probably end up crying myself to sleep again because I liked him a lot, but when it boiled down to it he didn't make time for me nor did he realize that I can walk away. I dated another guy before him and he didn't value me either. Life is short and I don't have time for boys who don't kiss me hard and give me their all.

Now to be fair, I am just a girl. I'm 18, I'm loud and passionate and most definitely a hand full. I write poetry, mostly about people I love. I love hard. I feel a lot. I like to hike and read and be around my friends and buy CDs and go concerts. I love cuddling and kissing. I can't stand clowns and obnoxiously loud, piercing noises. I need green tea AND coffee to get through the day. I love calf socks. I'm insecure about my stomach and my attractiveness. I love my smile. I feel most at ease watching sunsets. I can't wait for the day when someone looks at me as if I'm perfect, because I know I'm not.

I'm average. I am no more than a girl, so sometimes I doubt that I deserve what I ask out of relationships. Not everyone will think I am worth it. I'm not worth it to everyone. But I can't forget that I do deserve the best. I feel everyone does and that definition of "best" differs for everyone. I know that life is too short to be with anyone who makes you feel unloved. I know life is too short to be quiet about love. Love can't be boring or easy because that's a lie. Love is fighting and trying and working with someone else. Life is mediocre in so many different ways; love and dating can't be so. It's never convenient and you have to make time. There is never a good time, you just have to make time. You have to love yourself and believe you are worth the best even if you sometimes doubt it. I am just a girl, but someday someone is going to say that I am the girl.

Have a backbone. Stand tall for yourself. Leave anyone who doesn't think you're ******* beautiful and absolutely worth trying for. Make sure you know that not everyone shows effort the same way, and it's okay if some types of effort aren't good enough for you. Walk away even if your feet drag. Be your own person, let someone chase you. Let someone work for you. Reciprocate. Repeat if it doesn't work. Love yourself enough to be by yourself instead of sleeping in someone's arms that don't hold you close enough.

Today I told someone to make the **** time for me or he could kiss my ***. I told him I am not fleeting moments or spare seconds. I am light years beyond his effort. I am beyond what he can give me. He's a good person but not the person for me. So I walked away. And I'll cry myself to sleep tonight about it. But I did what was right for me, because I deserve the best out there even if I'm just a girl.

This isn't a poem. This is my life and how losing people sometimes leads to finding better ones. If you read this, best of luck. You deserve it, because losing me must hurt like hell. That's how it feels for you too. You'll find other people. You're a blip in my sky and your star burned out. Doesn't mean that you, or I, won't shine in someone else's galaxy. I am just a girl, but I'm not your girl.

I am not meant for spare moments or free time.
I am not a check on your to-do list.
I do not fall under weekly, monthly or annually.
I can't be satisfied with your accumulated seconds and fleeting minutes.

I am meant for someone who carves out time.
I am meant to be held and loved without the sound of a clock's tick in the background.
I am deserving of lengthy stares and long kisses.
I fall into arms that hold me long, that hold me all night.

I am not your spare time.
I am not your fleeting seconds.
I am so much more than that.

You were a breeze and I was the ocean,
And though you made me stir,
Sometimes you were so light I forgot you were there.

I'm sorry I thrashed around and made a scene.
I'm sorry I'm ambivalent and uncontrollable.
I'm sorry I'm invasive and encompassing.

Sometimes you'd get my waves to flow
To your draft.
It's too bad you can't ensure that will always be the case.

That's the thing with nature and us;
Whatever is natural just happens.
Is that why we aren't?

The ocean just is,
And the breeze just is.
I can't tell you how much it hurts that you don't blow along my shores,

Or that you'll probably leave me thrashing,
Stormy and blue after all of this.
I can't explain how it feels like the ocean is in my eyes.

You can see and feel an ocean
And you can only feel the breeze;
We continually differ and that's why I'll leave.

So you'll continue on as a breeze;
You make pick up wind and rustle leaves,
But someday you'll calm down and become light again.

It scares me that I'll still be able to feel gusts of you,
But I won't be able to ever fully grasp you.
This is why it is within my nature to not love what I cannot touch.