Sorrow is speaking of life as if we all have a “tommorow” to look forward to,
pain is realizing  we don’t  way too young.
But  life, has left me stung, a part of being both alive and sprung.
I’m just your average fifteen year old,
obsessed with both caffeine and personal hygiene, or at least it appears to be.
But when I’m alone my enemy happens to be my phone, because  she reminds me that without her who I am is unknown.
Reminiscing about boys with heavy cologne and breathless moans as my fingers trace their sharp jawbone, times in which I should have probably been home.
I guess I have dumb girl syndrome, it’s contagious, but I’ve haven’t caught it again in ages and it’s felt like I’ve left my old ways in cages.
Fifteen was ripped jeans and being called mean all the while resisting the  urge to scream.
because reality feels too much like a bad dream that you learn you don’t wake up from.

Every time I get a taste of your love the aftermath inflames my chest like heartburn. And I know loving you shouldn’t physically hurt, especially when it already mentally feels as if you could you would bury me so deep into the dirt, that you could regrow me into someone else.
But the seeds you plant or full of attentional greed and yet you get mad when I turn into a ****,
I’m sorry that you feel the uncontrollable need
to fix me but my steams were weak when you met me.
They’ll be the same when you leave me.

I’m a habitual lover of boys
with wry smiles, that lie and have good sense in style.
Though I know their intent is only to defile,
I’m the only one who ends up on trial, for debate.
No boy just wants to take me on dates without at least getting to second base.
I don’t want love if it’s easy.
I don’t like boys that are overly cheesy, don’t say things just to please me. I want love only if it’s hard to find and nearly impossible to attain, I want love only if it runs naturally  through my veins.
I want love only if love wants me in return, because I learn to force love will only leave you burned.

Love is
realizing that there may be someone in the world that’s better for you than who your with and hoping to god that you never find them.

Being you is such a disappointment .
It would be easy to say I hate being you but it’s more so being you makes me hate myself.
Why did it have to be you?
Out of the thousands of bodies that are created everyday I got stuck with you.
Such terrible odds and yet it makes since that it’s I who got them.
Being you is so exhausting that sometimes I wish i can stay sleeping.

Someone will love you.
Someone who isn’t as weak.
Someone who will be able to lift the abundance of pain you carry in between the cracks of your smile. Someone will love you.
Someone who isn’t a **** up.
Someone who doesn’t push you away.
Someone who isn’t afraid to be loved.
Someone who isn’t afraid to show love.
Someone will love you and see through the tough front you desperately try to hold onto under the pressure of your dainty hands.
Someone else will love you.
Someone who’s better than me.
Someone who isn’t me

My thinking of you is always imperative, because
I can’t seem to shake this narrative from my mind, that you and me will once again find, love.
but for now love isn’t looking for us, but in you only  I trust with my time,
So I’ll wait,
doesn’t  matter how long it takes because if hearts are made to break anyway at least with you it’s worth the stakes.
Im not afraid to fall
If it mean I get to know you along the way.
at least then I’ll understand how souls connect.
And how they eventually drift apart.