Let me tell you a story
of a young woman
winsome and wise

Once a small flower
bloomed into something
more beautiful than a whole garden

Someone who gives joy
in a world with so much
misery

A hidden diamond
exquisite and rare
treated more precious than jewelry

Once a blank paper
tainted with love
by her one and only

A daughter and a sister,
a friend and a lover,
and will soon be a mother

This is the story
of a young woman
winsome and wise,
special and loved.

My eyes are my messengers,
For they speak my words.

They hide dark secrets in them too,
For they don’t trust anyone.

They are deeper than the sea,
They are the mirror of my soul.

My eyes are my messengers,
They are the doorway to my heart.

When my sadness creeps over,
They cry a river.

They help me count stars,
They help me fly oceans.

My eyes are the best part of me
Not because how they look but because how they see

It's been a year now
I wish I could forget

A lot has changed
It hasn't even snowed yet

I believed in the snow
Once filled with hope now regret

Like the red stripped sweater
The first time we met

I can't believe I am left like this
Telling myself not to fret

Searching for what I did wrong
Trying not to break a sweat

Now I'm left with a torn photo Avoiding the sweater like a threat

Praying it doesn't snow
Wishing I could forget

But I can't
I can't forget December

day by day i realize
everything i miss about you
was never there in the first place

-the person i fell in love with was a mirage

[ Caution ]
[ Fragile ]

Our legs tangle together beneath tables.
Our smiles complete each other.
Your eyes are crystal blue.
Mine are a crimson red.

You reach over and caress my hand.
It feels good when you rub my knuckles.
You place a kiss.
It feels good.

But,
uneasy.

I love when you hold my waist.
We ballroom dance in the small kitchen space.
You rest your head on my thighs.
It feels nice.

You pull open my skin to look at my heart.
Your mouth gapes open.
Are you surprised to see it shattered apart?
It wasn't my choice, however.

Not mine,
not at all.

You hold red glass, cutting your skin.
Hurriedly you try to put them together.
I've been hurt before.
What's a little more?

Two pieces connect at the hip.
You smile through bloodied hands.
The pieces shiver in your touch.
You caress them with such compassion.

It stings,
but in a good way.

Slowly but surely, the pieces stick together.
A glass heart, torn at the seems.
You place it back, and stitch me up.
You smile at me, though your hands are scratched.

I kiss your wounds.
You cry for me.
I never believed in true love.
But this time, I'll give it a shot.