Life isnt measured by likes on a post,
Or followers, friends, or tweets.

Life can't be counted by people we meet
Or losses we face.

Life doesnt keep a tally sheet
Marking down our scores.

Life isn't measured by the breaths we take
But it isn't counted by the moments that take our breath away, either

Life can't be drawn out for us, and counted on a graph
It can't be explained or sectioned off into days, months or years

We carve our own paths, and we don't need to count the steps

Because wether you use 0 or 26 letters,
Wether your heart beats 2 or 200 times
We are not numbers, we cannot be counted. We are so much more.

Whitch hazel.

The perfect flower.

Spiky and uneven

Bright and bold

All others bloom in summer, let little girls have their fun with them

Witch hazel blooms in the dead of winter, when the cold becomes to much and all else fails. It pokes it's head above the snow. It tells the world I WILL NOT DIE!

Witch hazel the beauty born in the pain.

I am not a tiger, a vampire, or a ghost.

I cannot attack them straight on with my ferocious strength. I cannot watch them bleed from my claws.

I cannot lure them with beauty and perfection, lulling them in with a smile, snapping necks with bare hands.

I cannot sneak up on the shadows gliding soundlessly until I strike. A whisper, a warning, wherever I go.

But I can sew together my seams and glue the cracks together. I can fold down the edges and become a gentle circle. I can smile just the right amount to be a gentle, innocent flower, a master of deception.

I am a Venus flytrap.

An unknowing flower, not as pretty as the rest,
but soft and gentle, a perfect place to rest

Until I close my gapping mouth around you trapping you inside,
Eating you piece by piece until the pain destroys you from inside.

Life is full of perfect metaphors
And irony hidden in secret ways
Carefully caressing things
In secret or on silver trays

It's in all those unplanned moments
When we cease to think
And in the thoughtful gestures too That let the emotions sink

It's in the way we curl up in bed
With a book in the bright of day
The way a torn feather falls, oh so slowly away.

It's in the way we shrink in terror from the darks evil face
Yet refuse to sleep until wrapped up by its safe embrace

It's in the way we see the world
Yet refuse to open our eyes
Only staring at the ground
Yet seeing only skies

And that's what makes our planet such a magical place,
where emotions of love and fear carefully match pace.

"And We're Burning All the Bridges."

she listens to the lyrics and thinks of what her mother had told her:

"You are their bridge"

*they must be burning me now

Whispers and tangled limbs have never felt this electric.
You pull me in, and I feel your lips brushing my earlobe
I tell you I know what you're going to say,
expecting the same joke you usually make
You ask me if I'm positive I know what you're going to say
I assure you I am, and feel your arm wrap around my shoulder,
letting your warmth envelope me
Then I feel the unexpected words
Slip from your lips and collide with my emotions
Brushing against my ear in harmony with your lips
"I'm not sure you realize how beautiful you really are."