You pretty little thing
Who let the cobwebs
Settle in your mind

You pretty little thing
The spiders crawled in
And made a home out of you

You pretty little thing
your petals
Break at a glance

You pretty
Delicate
Broken
Little thing
When did you forget how to live

We were both drowning
So we clung to each other for dear life
When you walked away
I learned how to swim by myself
When you came back
I told you
There is simply no room here for you anymore

She blessed the world with every glimpse she allowed into those liquid amber eyes and that day the sunlight danced playfully across her skin as if ashamed to even exsist near something so lovely

there's something about him, the way he talks, walks, even smiles. the way he said her name, the way he did everything but more importantly the way he pretended to love her. she knew deep within he was faking it but it's been years since she's heard the words leaving his lips, it's been years since she felt anything like this, she knew this wasn't healthy for her. she's come so far only to be fooled once more but that's okay. this feeling is worth the hurt .

i often feel like hollow light. If you
were to touch me, there would be
nothing but a hand passing through
a few swirling luminescent particles—
i am a ghost pretending to be human.
i admit that this is hard for me to say–
writing without wrapping words
in warmth is unsafe, risk-laden; my
fingers freeze up, unmoving,
suddenly unknowing. there are
a few moments each day when i lose
all my speech, and five, ten, fifteen
years of learning how to hold myself
together with shaky hands vanish,
swallowed like lifeboats sinking. i
would like to tell the truths buried in
my stomach—like cutting open the sky
and watching all the stars fall through
torn fabric—but each time my
words fail me, and so I will never call
myself a poet. perhaps one of the
most difficult things is writing
without metaphors—i can’t make
fear or pain or the shaky breaths
that happen after you’ve cried for too
long sound soft or lovely or like deep
ocean tremors, and now i am no longer
an artist, i am just the raw, bare soul
of a person who never quite got the
hang of stability. still i am attempting
to decipher how all these people
keep their feet on the ground, so if
you find anything for me to saw the
wings growing from my ankles off with,
let me know.

Is there really such a thing as darkness
Is darkness a thing at all
Or is it just the absence of light
With a name put to it

Darkness is equalizing, beautiful
Nothing, everything, safe
Haunting, overlooked
But always there

Darkness is all some will ever see
It's simply there,
Not needed and unwanted

Darkness is safe,
No worries or pain,
Just dark

Darkness is the fear of the unknown
What's right in front of you
You could never know

Darkness is the night sky
So vast when the sun dips below the horizon
Captured in the perfect picture

Darkness is a small space around only you
It confines and isolates
Sometimes it can completely
Overwhelm you
This is when we find the light

We live in a world of polar opposites
You need light to compliment dark
Like yin and yang or a perfect work of art

If we are simply in darkness
No one is tall
No one is short
There is neither rich nor poor
Maybe to truly see each other
We need the dark