The lines on your skin tell stories, my dear
And if they could speak
They would speak of the pain
Of the loneliness and heartache and betrayal
Of the emotions that came too strongly or never at all

Of the blood that fell like tears when your eyes ran out

But the scars are quiet now
As silent as you were when you refused to cry for help

Please
Let me read the words on the pages of your skin
The unfinished thoughts and the sentences cut short

So I can finally finish them
And give you the happy ending you think you don’t deserve

The only absolute truth I know is that getting everything you've ever wanted is just a precursor to losing it all.

I'm sorry for the clawmarks trailing down your chest and the bruises spreading across your wrists. I've just been broken for so long that I don't know how to be with someone who isn't.

One by one,
I have watched each of my relationships dissolve into bitter words on my tongue,
Like "I still look for your face even though you're a thousand miles away."
"I am in love with someone who doesn't exist anymore."
"You are the one thing I regret giving up."
"Forgive me for destroying you. I didn't know to be with someone who wasn't as broken as I was."

So you'll understand why I say that I was never one for love stories.
Marriage vows sounded like the screaming echo of future arguments,
Kisses looked like purple bruises, rather than happy endings,
And the only absolute truth I knew was that getting everything you wanted was just a precursor to losing it all.

Which is why this is not a cheesy tale of romance
but of something much greater
Of friendship that could shatter the world with its strength
Of an empty shell of a person who only knew how to drown and the girl who taught her how beautiful it felt to burn
Of two teenagers who may be microscopic to the universe but are worth galaxies to each other.

This is seeing what love has the potential to be:
Thinking the same thing so many times we could fill an ocean if people still said "you owe me a soda"
Whispering into the phone at 3am to talk about high school drama and our favorite teachers and a boy we used to love.
Biting tongues so that our bursts of laughter don't wake up our roommates.
Talking about everything and nothing, all at once.

This is realizing that love is not companionship.
It is completion.

So this is to my best friend:
A long time ago, I made myself a new skin out of sandpaper and sarcasm to scare away anyone who could ever love me
But now, I have never meant anything more literally than when I say that I cannot live without you.
And if you are the story of my life, then I swear, it is the one that I will never stop re-reading.

--a.y., “Even the Civil War hurt less people than I have.”

--a.y., "If love is a fair game, why am I always losing?"

Saying I fight a lot with my parents is a massive understatement
Because I am stuck in the past, unable to forgive them for what they turned me into.
And saying I mess up whenever it comes to boys is even more so
Because I keep looking too far into the future, seeing an inevitable end and breaking off before it even begins.
But you,
You always jolt me back to reality
And whenever you excitedly show me pictures of bunnies in teacups
Or rant about your dreams with **** rock stars
Or yell Ohmygosh then proceed to enlighten me about the latest gossip
I can’t help by smile
And thank God for today.

I watch my best friend sit through yelling that could wake whole cities, putting up with angry shouts about how she is a waste of money while she struggles just to keep herself from wasting away.
I watch my cousin angrily do everything herself as her father stands over, lecturing her about the importance of hard work as he watches from the side.

They are the most beautiful people I know, treated like nothing. And I can only watch as their fists, their jaws, their hearts harden to stone.
If not a single tear escapes from their steely eyes, why do I still feel like crying?

I am too much of a coward to say this to your face
But since this is a poem
I don’t feel as helpless
Because my thoughts always made more sense coming from my hands than my lips

Since this is a poem
I’m less afraid to confess
How I loved that you chose me
And how I will do anything I can to justify the trust you’ve given me

Since this is a poem
I will admit that this was the first time I have cried for someone else
And that the space before you answered your phone was wrought with a terror I’ve never known

Still, since this is a poem
It is easier to lie when desperation rips off the mask you have so carefully constructed
And you stumble into my arms
Asking—no, crying whenwillthisendwhenwillthisendwhenwillthisend
between gasps for air
Soon, my love, soon
I promise

Since this is a poem
Maybe you’ll finally listen
When I say that you are not a burden
Or a ****** friend
(I know because I have been both, way too many times)

Since this is a poem
I can whisper and SHOUT and emphasize my words
Until you understand
That you are the one person I have ever truly cared about
(And only you know what a big deal that is for me)

You can keep apologizing for being weak
But all that hurts me are the tearstains on your cheeks

And if you are an anchor
Then you must be chained to sky
Darling, haven’t you realized by now
You are the only reason I am still alive.

i. There are moments when I think that I write until the words run into the ground. I reuse metaphors and recycle imagery until the English language is used up and nothing but compost. But god, it is like yours can speak life into being. They are a breath of fresh air in the cave where I’ve been hiding, and for the first time in a while, I remember what light tastes like.

ii. Every night I have tried desperately to feel something, anything, squinting at the ceiling to try to force a single tear out and pretend that I remember what emotion is. But you remind me what the ocean feels like on my cheeks.
And it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.

iii. Sometimes, the only reason I still believe in God is because someone had to have sent you here to save me.

iv. It’s been a really long time since I’ve believed a compliment. And it’s only because you have worked your way into my life well enough to know my imperfections and then continue to see beyond them.

v. I can see my future more clearly with you than with anyone else.

vi. I get into trouble because it seems I romanticize everyone who comes into my life, constantly thinking of them as a better person than they might be.
Except you. You are literally as amazing as I think you are. (And just as you are the only one who can compliment me, trust me when I say I know what I’m talking about when it comes to you).

vii. I swear, if my life ever flashed before my eyes, I would see only high school swim meets, camera-******* photo shoots, squirrel watching, Prom, late night conversations in the glow of the moon, and a brief glimpse of a girl struggling to read my clearly too-fancy name tag.

viii. I realized while writing this, that for the first time, I am actively trying not to be self-deprecating. I guess if someone like you can love me, I want to work a little harder to try as well.
You are right; we bring out the best in each other. For a while, I thought that I could only build others up by tearing myself down. But with you, I feel like we can take over the world (which we will). I hope I have loved enough to make you feel the same way

ix. Thank you. For all that phrase is worth and then a hundred times more. It cannot even come close to conveying what I feel right now, but then again, I was the one who was never comfortable with emotions to begin with.

x. I love you.

It was the thrill of throwing a towel around your shoulders and ruling over your Beanie Babies with a firm but gentle hand.
It was the jewels on your construction paper crown that told the world it was your special day.
It was the sweet taste of grapes when you pretended to be the ruler of Ancient Egypt.
It was following Harold and his crayon on their adventures under the scribbled moon.
It was the musk of ozone on the first night you saw lightning rattle the world.
It was the awe in your wide eyes as you watched countless wounded soldiers stand tall in the spotlight.

Yes, it is the symbol of noble blood, of utmost confidence and unparalleled dignity
But it is also the childhood fantasies that never really left us
And it is why, even though we know it’s the closest we’ll ever get to royalty
It is impossible to resist joining a young Simba in singing
Oh, I just can’t wait to be king.

It is the delicate shell of a robin's egg right before it hatches.
It is the explosion of bubbles as you dive headfirst into a pool.
It is Cinderella's dress as she danced unafraid for the very first time.
It is the sky in sunny California, interrupted only by palm trees.
It is the burst of berries in your mouth to cool you against the summer heat.
It is the wave that kisses the shore no matter how many times it's sent away.
It is the glitter of sapphires, dug up as we asked the earth for its secrets.
It is Van Gogh, who so loved the world he'd rather leave than cause it any pain.
It is the uniform of those who protect us by sea and will drown for our freedom.
It is the unexplored depths of the ocean.

So maybe,
just maybe,
it isn't such a bad thing to feel this blue after all.

It is turtles and frogs that crawl around the rocks, quieter than the lazy stream beside them
It is inch-long caterpillars and the translucent leaves they punch holes in.

It is the light taste of avocados, smooth as cream and refreshing as air.
It is the softness of a freshly mowed lawn between your bare feet,
It is the crisp scent of mint in your tea.

It is the seaweed tangled around your legs as you sprint and fall face first into the waves.
It is the rivalry hanging in the air as you and your friend volley the tennis ball back and forth

It is the glow of emeralds in the darkness of hidden caves.
It is the pine tree sitting in your house, reassuring you that life and joy still exist, even in the barren month of December

I’m trying to conclude with a witty remark, find some clever line to end this
But it seems that even though I can write about it
I really don’t have the luck of the Irish.

It is newborn ducklings and chicks that struggle to climb out their broken eggshells.
It is daffodils that bloom in the spring to greet the warming sun.

It is juicy ears of corn that signal the start of heat and happiness.
It is your puckered cheeks as you down another glass of cool lemonade and search desperately for shade.

It is Pac-Man and the taste of macaroni and cheese that whisk back to your childhood.
But it is also the taxicab that offers you the shot to begin again, ten thousand miles away from home.

It is the Beatles and their submarine, promising a life of ease and all you need.
It is the sparkle of champagne as you toast to the New Year.

It is the color of mornings and rebirth and second chances
So I guess it’s only natural that it happens to rhyme with “Hello.”

It is the sharp tang that greets your tongue in the morning, kickstarting your heart with sugar and Vitamin C.

It is the satisfying crunch of carrots drowning in cool ranch.

It is a plastic ring that reassures you of safety as the boat wobbles and you panic about falling over the railing.

It is the line of luminescent cones that guide you along the right path, and the sound of construction overhead.

It is the sun's goodbye as it fades from the horizon and moves on to greet the other side of the world.

It is the glow of a traffic light that blinks slowly at 3am, barely awake as the rest of the world sleeps peacefully around it.

For a color whose name has made every poet's life difficult
there are quite a few times in the day when it sure makes life seem very easy.

It is the color of her lips as she looks up at you through her eyelashes.
It is the heat running through your veins as you whirl across the dance floor.
It is the incomparable rush of bidding your sanity farewell (because one more drink wouldn't hurt, right?).

It is the taste of strawberries in the summer sun and the sound of Coke cans popping in the ocean breeze.
It is the smell of flowers growing on clifftops where most people never dare to go.

It is all you can see when you scream.

It is romance, catharsis, anger, exhilaration.
And it reminds you that you are alive.

I imagine being loved is like living on a star

It warms you at first
to know that you are someone’s prayer
their evening wish
the nightlight they hang their dreams on before falling asleep

And you smile a blinding smile as you realize that you,
one miniscule speck in the Milky Way
are a source of their inspiration and hope

God, how it burns though,
once you realize that only you can chase away their nightmares
then comfort them at the lonely hour of 2 am

And the tears they leave on your skin
are third-degree burns
because with each cry for help that you answer
everything you say begins to sound more and more like
“I will never leave”

But every star has an expiration date
and the brighter you shine
the harder it will be for them to escape unscathed
when you finally break

There is a reason it was called Atlas’s burden
To be loved or not to be loved: be careful what you choose
For when you promise to carry their world on your shoulders
it will be the first time you have everything to lose.

According to science
a star is just a massive inferno that blazes so intensely
we literally cannot get any closer to one than where we are
My tongue has never caught fire from starlight
but I’d bet against the heavens
that even if I opened wide the next time comets fell like snow
a mouthful of meteorites would not burn as hot as your lips on mine

But some see them as suicidal flames
trying desperately to leave a scar on the galaxies
frantic enough to bleed themselves dry in the process
My greatest fear was always spontaneous combustion
but I have found courage in your touch
and even the sense of urgency as you deepen our kiss
can no longer scare me away

Still others see them as puncture holes in the darkness
letting in light to keep the lonely moon warm in the night sky
And it seems no matter how tightly I squeeze my eyes shut
no matter how carefully I draw the curtains and blow out the candles
I can never escape the image of your impossibly beautiful smile that night
when I came up for air and saw the universe reflected in your eyes

And Dom Pérignon was famous for likening them to the sparkle of champagne
bubbles that danced and burst like magic in his glass
*So kiss me again
Quick before our nonexistent plans go awry
Because there is no way I can go back anymore
now that I have learned what it’s like to fly

The most relevant things I've learned in physics:

1. friction exists because no surface is ever
perfectly
smooth
so it is no wonder I always feel the heat of resistance where I walk
unintentionally scratching everyone with my jagged edges
and leaving nothing behind but cuts and bruises

2. hanging objects only find opposition in their path
because strings don't push, they just pull
which explains the tension that follows in my footsteps
taking easy conversations and returning forced silence

3. besides his renowned F=ma equation
newton also wrote a third law
because he understood that objects are stubborn and passive-aggressive
well, I'm sure he would've been proud of me
because I seem to have mastered the art of squeezing my eyes shut and pushing people away whenever they come close

4. gravity is obvious and inescapable
a fact that makes even the sky sob violently in thunderstorms
and that is why I have never dared to fly
choosing instead to drag my feet and shrink as small as possible
so I don't have far to go to kiss the ground

but the one thing that doesn't make sense to me
is why
even though I have been going in circles
I am still not conserving energy.

The one thing stronger than my desire to die
is my fear of leaving you lonely
And I’m scared that someday, it won’t be enough.

The only thing that scares me about hell
is the thought of seeing you praying to heaven
and not being able to answer.

if you could paint the constellations to capture the beauty of your favorite heroes
then the universe would be your self-portrait, my dear

"Pluto is not a planet because it’s too small"
is a hard pill I refuse to swallow
Not out of sentiment or nostalgia
Or a stubborn resistance to change

No
I refuse because it sounds too much like
“Children are not important because they are too young.”
“Blacks/Latinos/Asians/Native Americans are not human because they have the wrong skin color.”
“Physically/mentally/emotionally disabled people are not worth are time because they understand truth differently.”
“The LGBT community are not worthy of decent treatment because they love wrong (as opposed to those who do not love at all).”
“Women are inferior because they aren’t—sorry, ‘don’t have’ *****.”

The narrow mindset behind Pluto’s exile
is the same discrimination that causes and comes from the war on terror
The same hatred that has prevented thousands from marrying and killed off millions
The same blind power that allocates almost half of the world’s resources to less than ten percent of the population

So I will not sit tight as you try to tell me that individuality is important
While your actions show me that difference is death
I promise that we will unite and attack and endure
Destroying your reign of fear until there’s finally nothing left

It's true
It is a beautiful, exciting thing when the person you love returns your affections

But I have found it is something else entirely
Something a hundred times more meaningful
When the one who showed you how beautiful words can be
Breathed life into your thoughts
Compiled your most complex emotions into neat little stanzas
And writes like everything you wish you could be

Starts following you on Hello Poetry.

you said that you saw the universe when I looked at you
but even galaxies have cracks
and I am starting to wonder if my eyes are just black holes
because lately all I seem to be capable of
is seeing light and blinking it away into darkness

No, it is is not okay
To string him along like Christmas lights
And then leave him hanging there
To burn himself out before the coming spring has the chance to keep his fire alive

I used to think ostriches were stupid
For burying their heads in the sand

I mean, the need to conceal was perfectly acceptable
Just look at chameleons, children’s games, eclipses;
The universe overflows with proof that hiding is only natural
But to do it so poorly?
That was just sad.

As I grew up though
I began to understand the value of smoke and mirrors
The art of distraction, of diverting attention from the body that cannot hide
And I mastered it
I became the expert of illusion
Delusion
Confusion

I constructed a mask so lifelike even I could no longer remember if I’d ever had a real face.

Waking early every morning
I applied makeup and apathy as my own personal veneer
For I had long ago realized
That weakness led to concern led to questions led to fear

So instead of opening myself to the Inquisition
Which I knew would attack until I confessed
I learned the greatest lesson from the birds I once scorned:
How to hide more simply by ‘hiding’ less.

"It is true," she said.
"It is like drowning
Except you can see everyone else breathing."

Then it must also be true that everyone else can see you suffocating
Because it is like I am watching her dissolve before me
Trapped in her own deep well of misery

See, she tries to tread the waters
Tries to hold herself upright and proud
But the ones she does it for
Are the weights on her ankle dragging her down

So when she hold her breath under freeway tunnels
And dreams from night till day
I still can't tell if she's just waiting to resurface
Or wishing her life away

My dear, eyes that shine as bright as yours
Should never have to see the dark side of the moon
Hold onto your tears, broken angel
I swear it'll be over soon

I'll rescue you from this ****** abyss
That's left you eager for hell
I promise you're not crazy
You're just a little unwell.

'I have a girlfriend now'

Don’t react.
This is what you wanted.
This is what I wanted..?
This was what I wanted..
This was what I told him I wanted..
This was..
was this what I wanted?
It has to be
It is the only way I won’t scream
Or cry
Yes, this is what I wanted.

'She's pretty, congratulations'

The image in the mirror may last you a little while
But I promise I’ll always be here to say that
You look like poetry when you smile.

The person who coined units of time must have known you
And understood how sixty seconds in your arms makes everything seem
Minute.

I didn’t notice it at first
Because after you walked out of my life
It took me a few moments
To discover the new ache in my heart and the incurable weariness in my bones
Remnants of the bruising love we shared

I think it was supposed to be a reassurance that you left a piece of yourself behind
But really it was just a reminder that you left.

Though I listened desperately for the voice of a savior
Silence was the only sound I heard.
And as I let the tears seep from behind my closed eyelids
I finally understood how darkness could be blurred.

I don’t remember what I was going to write

If it was a clever metaphor for love
Or a bitter commentary on life’s tragedies
Or a tale of sadness marred by teardrops on the page

My mind gets like this sometimes
A lot, in fact
It is a worn out engine:
There are still moments when the gasoline sparks into ignition
And the explosion rockets the world skyhigh
But more often
The pressure builds and builds…
To nothing.

Just like it did with this poem .

I am the one people talk about in songs and poems written at 2am
Through the blind stupor of heartbreak and rage.

I am the villain that heroes love to defeat
And spectators love to see defeated.

I am the ‘benign’ tumor that will eat its way through your body
Then run away and never look back.

I am the broken promises of forever and always.

It is scary how easily I can let go of things I once thought I treasured.
And it is absolutely terrifying how easily I can destroy people I once thought I loved.

I am the lone defendant in the courtroom
With nobody to speak up on my behalf
Not even myself.

I am in love.
Not with the guy next door
Or the charming ****
Or even the bad boy

No, I am in love with the people on the streets.

I am in love with their smiles.
I am in love with their surprise when their casual How are you? doesn’t turn out to be rhetorical.
I am in love with their intense honesty when I ask them the same question in return.
I am in love with their hope when I meet their gaze, and they realize they might not be invisible after all.
I am in love with their inner artist and musician and scholar.
I am in love with their humanity

And nothing breaks my heart more than seeing their downcast gazes fixed on the hard, unfeeling ground
As if they don’t believe themselves worthy to be seen

I wish I could place them in front of a mirror
So they can understand just how beautiful they are
When someone else reassures them that they do exist.

I am in love. But I don’t know how to tell them yet.

Most people would say that it's cliche
To write a poem about fireworks
On the Fourth of July

It is too
Trite
Overused
Common.
It is unoriginal.

But there is nothing cliche about wonder and awe and magic
Nothing trite about a vast array of colors that you never even knew existed
Nothing overused about the feeling of exhilaration as you eagerly await the next supernova
Nothing common about lights so spectacular even thunder has to hold its breath.

And if it is unoriginal
Then I really don't think I care
After all
Just because something is beautiful
Doesn't mean that it has to be rare.

When we reunite
It feels like I am looking through glass
A solid pane crystallized by weeks of separation.

I am terrified
That the minutes and hours we spent apart
And the distance that blocked our paths
May have severed our friendship completely.

After all
I am used to people leaving.
It is as familiar as the crickets that sing me to sleep
Or the canaries that sing me to wake
Though not quite as delicate and beautiful.

But it is her
My best friend
The one who loved me at a time when I didn't think anyone could
The one who had any choice of companions but chose me
The one who understands what I say...and what I don't say
The one who can ramble on for hours but instantly fall silent if I ever need to speak
The one who doesn't have to use words to promise that I will never be alone.

Can distance really break us?

I reach for her hands
My fingertips a whisper away from hers
As they touch
I find my answer.

“No.”
The barrier between us shatters.

And I realize that I am looking not through a window
But at a mirror.

Running away from it all...

...from heartbreak.
Watching him gaze at her best friend
With the same adoration in her own eyes
As she reaches out for him in vain

...from apathy.
Living the same old routine
Struggling so hard to feel something
Anything
As the tears refuse to fall

...from abandonment.
Covering her ears against the screams--
Just because they are familiar
Doesn't mean they aren't agonizing
"You can't do anything right"

Barefoot, she pounds the pavement
Vision blurry from crying.
Her legs suddenly give out
And she collapses on the rough gravel

Yet she feels strangely happy
Because even this
Wind stinging her cheeks
Ice freezing her veins
Stones slashing her papery skin
Is still better than where she came from.

Each moment
She constructs hundreds of different realities
Each one better than the last
And all of them better than the truth.

They get to write their name into history
Without ever leaving the safety of the midnight sky

Let it resound
In every city
Every street corner
Every home

Shout from the mountaintops
Until your throat is sore
And your lungs tight
And your knees weak
From the effort

Say the things that need to be said
And the things that need to be heard
Because people will listen.

And that will give you all the power in the world
To twist the heart of every person you meet
To open their minds
To challenge the system
To make a change

Affirm your position or be forsaken
Assert your opinion or be forgotten.

Silence is loud
But make your voice louder.

We spent hours
Whispering secrets to the night sky
Until it muffled the silent echoes
And swallowed our bodies whole

And as he and I lay there
Our faces hugging the dirt
We emptied ourselves of words
Until
Finally
Nothing hurt

I am so sorry. Truly, for everything I've done. It's 1:20am and I may as well be drunk for all the discretion I'm showing, but I need to say it before this fades as my feelings always inevitably do...I just reread some of past conversations, and I finally realized how much I gave up by not fighting hard enough. This entire year, I've managed to force myself not to care.......and honestly, I even managed to find some anger to throw at you, trying to convince myself that some part was your fault.
I was wrong.

And I don't know if it matters to you, and personally I don't even think it should, but I know that this may have been my one greatest regret. I can't make up for the mistakes, but you need to know that I am at least aware now that they were mistakes. That I couldn't see how you made me a better person and actually accepted me in the time when I thought no one could or should. That my blindness cost me something people search forever for.

And I see you now, unsure if you're happier or not. I sincerely hope you are...though it also scares me because that would mean I may have been the one who dragged you down.

I don't even know why I'm writing this, a flurry of passion, maybe, or a flood of shame. Or even jealousy that you already seem to have found closure while I am still awake right now, struggling with the consequences and the guilt.
Perhaps all of the above.

All I know is that these words in my head cannot be wasted, and they must be given to you before I can no longer send them or I no longer mean them, whichever comes first. They are for you to receive as you'd like, and as I finish, I'm beginning to see that this was as much, if not more, for me as it was for you. So I ask for nothing, and I presume nothing. I simply wanted you to know.

And I miss you. Because the tragic irony is, the one person I wish I could talk to about the chaos in my head is still you..

Darling, if this were a contest
Of who could hate themselves most
I’m well into the danger zone
And you’re not even close.

I wonder what it is
About
Darkness
Where the only glow comes from a slowly ticking clock
Silence
Where the only noise is the ringing in your ears
Raw emotion
Where the only sanity you have left is spread out across this page

That releases us
And lets the words flow free
Beautiful and pure and unrestrained
To create a masterpiece you’d never thought possible when you were awake.

Falling out of love is a lot like breaking glass

It starts with wholeness

The wonder of pure adoration
Similar to the dazzling sunlight
That streams through the stained window
And makes the colorful shadows dance

But the euphoria begins to plummet
Just as a gentle tap damages crystal
Forming cracks in the fragile relationship
Like the delicate lines running along a trembling vase

Then you
And the jar
Shatter

And as you do
You become a wreck
Flames of heartache burning away
The beautiful memories
The exhilaration
The innocent joy
Smashing the once-solid sculpture
Into a mess of jagged shards
Desperate and pitiful in the looming darkness

No longer beautiful.

Falling in love is a lot like creating glass

It starts with disorder

The confusion of your lost soul
Similar to the rough granules of unrefined sand
That fall through your fingers
And refuse to hold their shape

But the passion begins to build
Just as a spark ignites a searing fire
Blazing in your heart
Like the burning rocks in the oven

Then you
And the stone
Melt

And as you do
You become pure
Tides of love washing away
The brokenness
The chaos
The loneliness
Solidifying the scattered pieces
Into a mountain of radiant crystal
Glorious and sparkling in the scarlet light of the furnace

Ready to be made beautiful.