Oh baby, what have you done? You were a body filled with forest fires and I was always afraid of the cold. Oh how your lips placed cigarette burns on my chest and oh how they kept me warm all through the night. Oh baby, your kisses were like ***** and it burned my throat on its way down. Your matchstick hands would find my paper skin and we’d light up like the 4th of July.
Oh baby, how we lit up the entire sky; but 2 years have gone and you with it and I can’t fall asleep without feeling the burns from your touch.


Oh how I played with fire and wondered why I got burnt
-V

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

maybe love is to watch a thousand winters pass, and still stand by his side because you know he's made of spring

To you, my one and only unknown love, I bestow unto you my heart and burning desires.
I've dreamed of our wedding day, and much more to come.
But still with a blank slate, for you, my one and only unknown love.

Dear Ex-Lovers,

i. You were poison to me and I loved to get burnt. How could you leave me lying breathless on the floor wanting more? You used me like an escape and I welcomed it. You filled my head with empty promises; I was just a puppet on your string. Oh darling I should have known I was dancing  with the devil when I was captured in your eyes.

ii. You were my midnight calls and 4am drunk promises. We spent our summer under the moon with poetry written on the back of your palm. I was your everything and for a time, you were mine. But summer is over and I am gone and you are left with the realization I only used you as a muse.

Iii. It started off with shy hugs between you and I. We were misplaced kisses and awkward silence on a Saturday afternoon. You were all push and no pull, I was too. We never tried hard but that's okay; we were only a distraction from the battles we had within.

iv. I always wondered how I could love someone as cold as you. I was your blanket and you were always trying to keep warm. Maybe you needed a reason to keep trying in this turbulent world and maybe I just loved to play with broken things, but three months have passed and I still sit by your grave and wonder if all I ever did was suffocate the little candle you had burning within.
-V

the ones who chase the sunset
the ones who dream of dreaming on abandoned mattresses
the ones who never sleep
the ones who find homes in the passenger seat
the ones with endless wanderlust and bare feet
the ones who travel with journals on their sleeves
the ones with open minds and prying hands
the ones who finally learned how to speak
the ones with golden tongues and opalescent teeth
the ones with glowing green lights in their eyes
the ones with ticklish knees and bruised thighs
the ones with unheard symphonies in their eardrums
the ones who grow with the trees and bloom like chrysanthemums
the ones with ideas too big for the small town scene
the ones who perform silent spoken word for their television screens
the ones bubbling with spontaneity and sentimentality
the ones with broken dreamcatchers, lightbulbs, and families
the ones who are captivated by constellations and insanity
the ones who make snow angels on mountain peaks
the ones with freckles, curly hair, and rosy cheeks
and the one with olive skin and emerald split ends
the ones with tracing thumbs and laureled limbs
the ones who have taken each others flaws in
wrapped them in silk and blocked out the bitter wind
the ones who weave orbs with moth wings
the ones who still buzz with bee stings
the ones with the power and voodoo
the ones who don't think like you do
the earth, the fire, the water, the air
the ones who can't help but to stop and stare
the misfit poets;
the ones who dare to care.