I'm wide awake with the rain,
and you are sleeping right beside me.
I think if I could remember anything these days,
I'd tell you
This is how it started the last time.
When things began to fall to pieces.

We distance ourselves from fears and facts
so we can stand sleeping back to back
and thunderstorms rain on my parade.
We were made of
stardust.
Or so I once really believed.

2014 will be my year.
It is my year.
The year I learned
sometimes we cry because we are
so
*******
happy.
The year I learned there was
love for me,
all around the world,
before my feet have touched European soil.

In 2014, I learned to start doing things for myself.
And I learned that when you are nothing but authentic,
it draws more people to you.
I learned to embrace my
honesty,
my sensitivity.
2014 was the year I learned that
what is popular
is not ineviable truth.
And if you choose to be one of the few people left who still has
***** to give,
people are drawn to that too.

I learned that
many of the reasons that people love me,
are the same reasons I love people.
In 2014 I made beautiful, important,
imperfect decisions.
I want this to be a year I'll look back on with pride,
knowing,
not that I found myself,
but, more so, that I was
never missing.

Forgive me.
I can't help wanting to plant kisses on you always.
For all the scary things you've shown me about myself,
and how you've always managed to hold on to me afterwards.
With shaking shoulders and a tender tremble from my
nose to my toes.
And how you have loved them,
and all the places in between.
I want to kiss you always,
but it is so much more than that.
Lips alone are not enough to disclose the emotions behind them.
They are clumsy in motion, and falter, between speeches, and sleep-talking, and sometimes they plant themselves on your neck, or chest, or forehead, in an effort to say
"Forgive me.
I don't have the words to tell you that you are beautiful and wonderful and magical.
Forgive me,
because I don't know how to explain that you mean the world to me.
Forgive me because
I am so headstrong, I will never let myself need anyone,
but if there was ever a person for me to need
I swear that it is you."
And those lips will stumble in search of the perfect place to kiss, so as to tell you these things, until they find
yours.
Resting quietly below two soft blues shining out of your skull,
with all the aches of a lovely soul,
and when you kiss back,
all is forgiven.

Don't tell me.
You're sorry.
and I'd like to ask you what exactly it is you're
"sorry" for.
For something you did or didn't do,
or for the reaction it got out of me?
You shouldn't have to be sorry.
And to be completely honest,
I am tired of "I'm sorry"s.
You have given me so many,
and I have kept them all.
Tucked neatly in my ear,
left in the folds of my belly.
Held graciously between my two tender thighs
waiting to be replaced with something
better.
Newer.
Different.
Don't give me any more "sorry"s.
Give me more "I love you"s and
"how are you"s and what have yous
and "I'll see you tomorrow"s.
Give me more time and energy,
instead of filling these spaces in between with
I'm sorry's.
You'll find that you're not so sorry.
And that if you came around as often as you'd "like" to,
you would never have to say "sorry"
in the first place.

And tonight, I'm feeling
very
very
empty,
Because that's how it feels
when its not enough to just
love.

Glass for looking,
and I saw myself in it.
I wanted to write something real **** poetic,
But your face kept popping up in my head
and I had no good words for the feeling it gave me.
I'm the Queen of Regret.
And that doesn't make you proud,
doesn't make you stay steady.
My guilt would pull us both down because it's
just that heavy.
And I have been sleeping underneath it for far too long.
What have you brought me?
Aside from being happy,
which is all I have ever really been asking.
You've done so well and I am so tired of
beating this dead horse.
Broken and ****** and bashful,
closed off like every "I love you"s a mouthful.
And people ask me how we're doing and I say
"I'm doing fine" which isn't a lie the way it used to be.
You got used to me.
As I've been used to second guessing.
Used to the mess we let ourselves step in.
Well adjusted to the ways
in which we can't communicate.
I allowed for more time,
you allow for more stays.
But I still can't shake that it's
all the same
and it's been a ******* year.
Why do I still feel like i'm wasting it here?

To do nothing but rot.
In moments like these
is all I want.
And it's been said I am wasteful.
The truth is distasteful.
Neglecting reflection for sake of your fables.
Living in a dream
built in your head
somewhere between
half asleep and half dead
just
won't
cut
it.
We are not so different, you and I.
Similarly leading separate lives.
Susceptible to the same old repetitive lies,
as the ones we will hear 'til the day we die
like
"I'm sorry"
"I love you"
"It's my fault"
"I didn't mean to"
"I'll try harder than I used to."
or
"One day I'll love you more,"
Well I've heard the score.
Love you better, love you often.
More affection and more talking.
More attention, more gawking.
More time.
You are mine,
and I haven't felt the truth in that.
And it is moments like these when I wonder
what I am doing
at all.