I am beginning to love
The things I hate about you
Because they are the things
I hate about you
I am afraid
Because I don't think I can grow
To love to hate anyone else

The notness of who you once weren't is who you must be. But you must be able to distinguish can from not to do why.
And why is the essence of who. But can who understand why? It is a mystery. A mystery created by its self for the sole reason of where.
And when I say why you can not answer because where isn't existence in your realm that you made not to be in fear of being.

To the only one I wrote songs for,
And still do to this day.
To the only one I wrote poetry for,
On whom I fix my poetic gaze.
To the only one who watched the stars,
With my arm in your embrace.
To the only one I've ever really wanted;
The only one I've ever chased.
This one goes out to the one...

Night descends as
gray velvet pulsates
the skies above me.
I hear the trickle
bouncing off a million leaves,
God's tears cleansing
sacred ground.

There is no dishonor
to be found in this land.
This holy place is
a gift from heaven
& that spirit
still lives
in mason jars.

And if I strain to listen,
I can hear phantom-shiners
howling at the moon
& playing fiddles.

Shame woven into me, to escape the things I've done. In shadow it reminds me, it's a battle that can't be won.

Fingerprints along the walls, that match my very hand. It holds to gently or grips to tight, and lost is the magic sand.

Where were you all that time ago, when I needed strength the most? Now my past self haunts me, like the lingering of a ghost.

Never is there a witch when you need one, to cast a magic spell. Circles drawn and cauldrons bubbled, the day I saved myself from hell.

let it not be confused
let no one else's name
ring throughout these sentences
let this be a hatchet
let me put this to rest
this is not a test
i don't want to think
about shipwrecks anymore
i am tired of folding apologies
into origami birds
and placing them
at the headstones to your tantrums
this is not is not geology class
these are promises
written on razorblades
      & if you are getting choked up
        then maybe you should be
maybe we should be buried
with our telescopes face down
my mouth is full of sorry
all for being honest
we are falling out of orbit
we are burning bystanders
so cast away your callous condolences
because no one is clapping
in this waist deep water
this is not a baptism
so do not tell strangers
that this was a chance to drown
any differently
i am not a catalogue
of constellations you cannot name
this is not mythology
so stop believing your horoscope
i am not a wishing well
i am just a wall for you
to paint post nuclear fallout & antonyms for catharsis on
we destroy the things
that are not ours-
the wanton ways
we embody wrecking *****
and then cry over the rubble
this is not a heap or a mosaic
this is leaping
off a thousand story building
with no one to catch you
at the bottom & maybe
that's why some quiet moments
are so fragile, maybe that's why butterflies have mimicry
your words are black powder
and poetry is your musketry
i guess that makes me your blindfold

i never thought
i was the type of girl
whose tragedies turned into fears
until i caught a glimpse
of my demons
creeping back up on me;
this time,
they came from the reflection
in your eyes
instead of his suffocating tongue