Sometimes
the best thing about being young
is things can still seem incredibly romantic.

Sentiments wrapped in sweetness
that have me gazing at stars,
checking the clock for 11:11 to send up a wish.

Some part of me,
only a fraction by now,
still believes that there's magic in the world
and maybe two people
can be made for each other in some capacity.
maybe happy endings do happen.

I was pretty sure
that the world was just going to keep spinning
the same way it always had
and that I was wrong
for wanting to throw it off its natural course
but then you called me yours
and I found myself slipping.

Maybe,
my 11:11 wish for happiness,
my sentiments of sweetness,
my dreams of what could be,
would throw off someone else's orbit
but they fit perfectly in line with yours.
and so I cling to the moments
we gaze at the same sky

Because the best part about being older
is you know not everything is romantic
but sometimes they are
and that makes me believe in something.

you're stealing the air I surrender
while we're twisted in tantric sheets
I'm falling back into myself
on fire
melting with you
I forget how to breathe.

I'm 16 and the sound of being seen is a new melody I can't get enough of.
Lies tasted like cinnamon and sugar off his tongue,
and I let him tell me them as we crashed onto the bed.

I'm 17 and the taste of rebellion, summer sun, and bad decisions is intoxicating.

I'm 18 and I think I have life figured out.

I'm 19 and I am screaming
"*******" from the hill tops.
I'm looking for answers in the arms of strangers.

I'm 20 and I find gentleness in the arms of a boy with steel blue eyes and cigarettes on his breath.

I'm 21 and alcohol doesn't solve anything,
but I watch my friends drown in it anyways.

I'm 22 and I think the world is against me.
I don't understand it's not for or against anyone.

I'm 23 and as the song goes,
"No one likes you when you're 23."
I find this to be true.

I'm 24 and I have been thrown onto rock bottom.
I can't see the top anymore,
and I don't have strength to even search for it.

I'm 25 and I have no purpose to my life.
No goals.
No drive.
I have an abundance of heartache
and I want to know why living
has to hurt so ******* bad.

I'm 26 and I want to die,
but I want to live too.
I have school,
that's something to work towards...i guess?

I'm 27 and honestly, life isn't bad.
I don't know what I want,
I don't know who I am but I'm learning.
I don't know what happens tomorrow, but I have today.

I'm 28 and...

I am an open book,
but I do not lay splayed wide
with ink spilling off my pages.  
I wait for careful hands
to read between the lines
and dive into my story.

And if all I get is just one kiss
let me color it with truth.
The anticipation on my breath,
the moments that I've dared to dream.
My tongue laced with flavors of desire,
for the times you've left me wanting more.
I'll nibble your lips,
and then a little harder,
the ache I feel when you're gone.
My lips on yours a whisper,
screaming the truth between held breaths
and words I choke on.

I'm dancing at 1am and it's the freest I have felt all day.

I don't have rhythm,
I am all limbs and two left feet.
I wish I could move expertly or even well, but I can't.
And that's okay.

If anyone were to spot me,
I would look ridiculous.
Headphones blaring in an otherwise silent room.
But, that's okay too.

I am tense,
with too many thoughts,
and all day long it's hard to breathe.

1am is freedom with bad dancing and music that moves me.

I talk to my cats,
to the shadows on the wall,

I talk to myself,
or I don't talk at all.

I'm swirling in thoughts
that won't stay away.

I spend far too much time
wasted this way.

Stuck somewhere between
depressed and numb,

My only reprieve,
sitting in the sun.

Moments while the rays
illuminate my skin

I don't feel so trapped,
I dont feel shut in.