There were moments when I didn't have anyone else. Not even myself, but I had you.

There were hours when the sunlight would burn the day away & I couldn't survive the cold of night.

There were days when I had nothing to say yet all the right words would flow from your lips like ocean waves.

There were weeks when my bones were stiffening & the sight of my scars were sickening.

There were months when I didn't care for watching myself bleed & a blade was non existent to me.

Through all the moments, hours, days, weeks & months I haven't even had a whole year with you but I know its you that I want.
& if I could count back every second & turn back the clocks I'd do it all over again with you, from rock bottom to the very top.

it takes a real proud man to make a girl cry hard. most things a girl can cry off in ten minutes. Tough things. Like giving birth to big *** babies with their big *** heads and ****. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the deepest cries. Ones that come from the most hurt-felt part of a woman's soul. Ones that make your eyes close and your stomach sick. Ones that make your whole body freeze, and all you can think is, "i am responsible for this unbearable pain, on such a gentle woman's soul."

i am a master of this art. i have learned the call of the lone woman; almost a swan song, of a dying gentle soul begging to be heard. Begging, for the one who can save her to act before she drowns; to do anything but stand there and stare. Anything but let her die this lonesome death just out of reach of his arms.

i have a recipe for hurt. tested and tried thoroughly over the years, i can now say it is perfected. i can hurt beautiful souls and shatter their wonderful dreams, then so simply turn it around to make it sound like it was their fault. one may say this is a fine delicacy. i say it is the recipe to feed lost souls. ones who will be lost in limbo for all eternity because even in death, their pride was still too big for the afterlife.

there is a special talent i have that is unique for mastering the art of hurt. like x-ray vision it is a power to bring out, in other people, what they don't want anyone to see. i can bring out the worst in a beautiful soul faster than you can look in someone's eyes. i can make monsters of magnificent beings, then call them crazy and be on my way.

Leaving behind a faded tye-dye that's left to hang dry in the sun, knowing that her colours will never shine as bright as they once did, ever again.

.

traveler of souls, a
looking glass shattered,
the infected cracks
murmur to my eyes,
telling me more
about myself
than the
reflection.

I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna kiss you, like I wanna go down on you… Wait, sorry.
Hey, I like you like, I think you’re pretty, like I want us to get along, hey! I really like this song wanna dance? I like your tight pants, I don’t mean to stare it’s just kind of there like Wow, sorry that came out wrong, Hey I’m Esther, nice to meet you, cute shoes. Who knew converse would create this kind of tension. Do you watch Dr Who? You hate Moffat? Me too.
I’m sorry this is supposed to be a love poem and I’m blabbering,
Hey! I like you, like I think  your finger tips are spider webs the way you pull me in, Andrew Garfield, spider man, have you seen that one? I’m a huge fan.
Hey, I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna  take you out on dates and hold your hand in parking lots and line ups, like your laugh is contagious and your eyes are outrageously beautiful.

You’re pretty, smiling eyes and nervous laughter, not quite caught up in the moment.
I’d sing you a love song; I’d walk ten thousand miles. I catch my breath when your lips part to smile.
Your eyes sparkle when you see something you love; I wonder what it feels like to be the subject of your stares? The object of your affection.
So, I think you’re adorable; it’s deplorable how much I wanna kiss you.
Hey Tight jeans! Was that rude? Because I can be crude, and kind of mean, in the sense that I say what I think and a lot of people say I’m forward…
Take me out tonight; the stars are just bright enough for me to see your features, I’d paint pictures of your hands if mine would just stop shaking. I’m afraid,
because you’re just a little bit older and more bold than I’d have expected you to be, but you see it’s not written in the stars that we should be together, here I see in your eyes that you’re excited because you don’t realize this poem is about you, you idiot.
See what I mean, I’m not cautious. Torturous really I couldn’t stand to see you saddened, because  you’re beautiful which is trivial, I mean a man who looks like you must know this right?
Do you like romantic? I could say your eyes are waterfalls and your temples are the gaps in the sidewalks where puddles huddle.
I want to get to know you, I want to hold you while it’s raining, straining to keep my eyes on the movie we’re watching but your face in the half light is ignited
Your nose is the bookmark in the middle of my favourite story, marking the points before the hero has to leave and after he’s realized he can’t stay.
I can feel your heart beating from where we’re dancing, every inch of your body, I’d memorize, your curves and lines like you were my times tables and I wasn’t ever able to get those down so I might have to go over them a few more times before you’re committed to memory.
But now, in the blissful morning after sunrise, you lie.
sleepily kiss my forehead and mumble “I have class”
and I spend the last few seconds before you leave my room admiring your a-
… eyes.