I thought that maybe I'd have something to write about now but I guess not because here I am with black eyeliner and hickeys that look like snakebites still wondering what to say

She’ll be lovely. You’ll be able to count the spaces in between her ribs. She’ll have thin skin and it’ll be so easy to drive her crazy with just a single touch. It’ll be easy to make your mark on her, too. She’ll bruise easy and love it. She’ll think it’s beautiful.

2. She won’t ever be expensive on dates because all she’ll order is a salad. You’ll never have to worry about her ordering an expensive steak. You might have to worry about emergency room bills when she passes out, but she’ll never ask for anything else. All she’ll want is ***** and sleeping pills.

3. She will always put you first. Your needs always come before hers because she was raised “God first, others second, I am third”. She’ll make you hot chocolate and drive to your house at 3 AM with pizza she won’t eat, even though she’s dead tired and all she wants is a good night’s rest. You can count on her to be there.

4. She will tell you that you are perfect. She’ll believe it, too. Everyone around her seems to be perfect and she’s drowning under the weight of mediocrity but it’s ok as long as you know how perfect you are.

5. She’ll always have scissors and pencil sharpeners on hand. The knives in her kitchen are always sharpened to perfection and if you forget your razor at home, it’s ok. She has extras in her closet.

6. She’ll ******* anytime you want. As long as you don’t look at her while she’s getting undressed, she’ll love you until she can’t breathe anymore. She’ll smile as you kiss her thighs because you’re the only one that makes her feel beautiful.

7. Date a girl who hates herself because she’ll love you.

She’ll be lovely. There will be spaces for you between her ribs. Your left lung is smaller than you right lung to make room for your heart, but there’s all kinds of room in her body. Her kidneys and liver are failing and soon enough they’ll be gone to make room for your love.

2. She won’t ever be expensive on dates because all she’ll order is a salad. You’ll never have to worry about not having enough money (for dinner at least). You’ll have to worry about emergency room bills when she passes out, but she’ll never ask for anything else. All she’ll want is ***** and sleeping pills.

3. She will always put you first. She’ll love you with all the love she should have kept for herself. She’ll make you hot chocolate and stay up until 3 AM while you’re crying over her. When she makes you cry because you just want her to see herself the way you see her, she’ll be there with cold hands and tired eyes. She’s dead, she’s exhausted, all she wants is a good night’s rest. But you can count on her to be there.

4. She will tell you that you are perfect. She’ll believe it, too. Everyone around her seems to be perfect and she’s drowning under the weight of mediocrity but it’s okay. She’s okay. She won’t understand that all of us are swimming and most of us are drowning.

5. She’ll always have scissors and pencil sharpeners on hand. The knives in her kitchen are always sharpened to perfection and if you forget your razor at home, it’s ok. She has extras in her closet.

6. She’ll ******* any time you want. As long as you don’t look at her while she’s getting undressed. She’ll be used to the sensation of knives but it’s a different kind of pain when you look at her. She will want to be beautiful for you. She’ll love you until she can’t breathe anymore. You’ll make her feel beautiful for the night but when she wakes up she’ll still think she wasn’t worth it.

7. Date a girl who hates herself because she’ll love you.

Text her. Send her messages that she won't know how to respond to. she'll read them and put her phone down. Stare at the read receipt for hours until you realize she's not picking the phone back up, she doesn't have anything to say to you.

Eat lots of chocolate. It has serotonin in it, the happy chemical. When you cuddle with her, your brain releases oxytocin. As long as you eat enough chocolate (and throw it up) you won't miss the oxytocin one bit.

Bleed. When she tells you that she cuts herself, cut deeper. This is guerrilla warfare now, and for every shot fired you must fire back.

Read your messages. Laugh at the nicknames she used. "Princess". "Baby". "Darlin". You were never her princess, never her baby. She was the child and you were merely her plaything.

Make art. Write dumb poetry about falling in and out of love, take photographs of your ****** thighs, paint a picture using only shades of red. Let her figure out what all these things mean.

Drink. Green tea, *****, over-priced lattes. Stay up all night crying. Wear stilettos. Sit in art museums all alone and wonder if being a starving artist is as much fun as it sounds. Take long showers and harmonize with your favorite songs through your tears. Use heavier, blacker eyeliner. Spend time on yourself. Adopt a cat. But most of all, remember this:

You can only love one person. Choose yourself

this is
quiet
this is 3:17 AM, awakened by dreams of smoking illegal things with you
this is hushed whispers, bated breath, this is
waiting this is
the moment after a slap across the cheek.
this is
deep
this is the pacific ocean, hiding skeletons of sailors and pirates who
maybe never wanted to condemn anyone to this dark, damp death they
just wanted a little money for their baby girl at home this is
conversations with a cactus at midnight this is
trying to catch my breath after running to your open arms
this is
dark
feeling for your hands but catching your neck instead this is
“this place is ******* haunted, Grace”
this is holding me at the waist this is
European cathedrals on rainy afternoons this is
5’1” and 5’3” this is
tea at 7:34 AM this is
out of tune pianos everywhere I look and
lying on the floor, battered and bruised as you part your lips
ever so slightly, this is
a memorized dance, a harmony
under scrutinizing stage lights.
this is rehearsed, this is
directed, this is choreographed, this is
not a performance anymore.

You realized before I did that we would never fit, only collide. We weren't meant for forever.
We were meant for disaster, always.
Somewhere in my bones I knew that we clashed but I couldn't explain why and now I know.
You were red, burning with passion and I was yellow, too optimistic for our own good.
Red and yellow don't match.
they only mix to form orange,
the universal sign for danger
You were a stop sign, the truck that put out the fire in my heart, the low battery light.
I was sunny, Van Gogh's paint, the midway point between go and stop. I was SLOW DOWN I was YIELD I was a sunflower that you somehow managed to crush.
Your flames grew taller than my blooms and when there was nothing left of me to burn, you moved on to a new field of flowers.
Roses this time, pink and young and innocent.
I hope she burns as poetically as I did

As he kissed my lips and felt my thighs
I watched in the mirror as my soul slowly died

I don't care that her hands are cold
the red on her cheeks are enough to keep me warm this winter
Even if our lips only touch in the split second of a goodbye
her mouth is the only thing I can pay attention to
'Cause I know if I don't I might miss it
And if I miss it I'll have to wait for another goodbye
and at this point I don't think I can handle
watching her leave and not looking back
I know it's not very polite to comment on people's scent
but I was told to speak my mind and when she moves closer
laying her head on my shoulder and my heart just stops
What else do you want me to do?
How dare she, make this poet wannabe forget his words?
"I fell in love like I fell asleep", *******
I fell like a cartoon stepping on the X mark on the floor
and a piano falls from the sky crushing him
but he turns out okay only for some random train
run over him again
It's too late for me to be writing poems or thinking about you
or writing poems about thinking about you
and yet here I am making out excuses
for things I haven't done yet
I don't blame you for calling me a creep
I do hate it, however, when you say things
that weren't meant for your lips
I could write all night, waiting for her to wake up
but it wouldn't matter, 'cause in the end
this is just another letter I'm too coward to send

i can write your name into my skin over and over
but it doesn't matter how many times i translate these feelings into verses
and convert my longing into lines

i can never write myself into your story