I've heard people say, "You know you're in love when all the songs make sense."
Well after loving you I know that to be untrue.

I've been with many people and I understood what the songs were saying.

I knew I was in love when none of the songs could encapsulate the way I felt. I had to write my own songs. There was no combination of notes or words already in the universe that explained what I knew to be true.

Thank you for teaching me that when you're in love; the songs don't just make sense.

You feel so much when you’re in love, you have to write your own songs.

Never figuring out what God wants from me
My father getting too angry and beating me
My mother will never say the words 'Your'e beautiful'
My child will be nothing at all like me
If I end up with a husband, he will turn out like my dad
Not getting into veterinary school
Not surviving past 18

are miles suppose to mean something to me ?
if I don't breathe when I'm with you
if I can't breathe when you leave
it's the same **** thing
[ e v e r y  t i m e  ]
I scribble these lines
I try making them rhyme
am I just wasting mine ?
what is all this time good for ?
torture maybe ?
if miles separate lives
when i'm  dying to find
the right lines to align
and building this frame
with nothing behind it
the sky is the limit
but the sun is so blinding
so I go out at night
and chase moonlight with wine sips
I've learned not to trust wine lips
or lips at all, really
cause i'm afraid of the brain
that makes it all so appealing

You were love uncompromised, unadulterated,
You were the purest expression of the drug,
Before I tasted death on my tongue,
And before my heart learned despair,
Before inhibitions and walls were erected
Making love a feat as difficult as trying to go a day without flashbacks of us holding each other as if nothing else had ever made more sense than this moment right here

He doesn’t understand how broken I was.
How I wanted to be somewhere else,
anywhere else.
How I wanted to be someone else,
anyone else.
How I wanted to sleep endlessly because only while being unconscious were things okay.
How I wanted nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I didn’t even want to be okay.
I just wanted it to be over.

Well, that’s a lie.
I wanted something.
I wanted everyone else to be okay.
I wanted to take away their pain and watch them flourish.
I was torn between thinking it was selfish to leave because someone might miss me
(a remote chance at best though)
and thinking it was selfish to stay and force them to watch me die a little every day.

Everything was torn and fractured and incomprehensible.
I was a vase shattered into tiny pieces and I couldn’t bear to have anyone cut their feet on my rough edges.
What I didn’t realize was that maneuvering around my broken pieces was just as difficult,
just as exhausting.

So I’m trying a little bit harder now.
No;
that’s a lie too.
I’m trying harder than I ever have.
I’m trying to show him what needs to be shown-
the dark pictures that stalk me in my dreams.
I'm trying to voice what needs to be uttered-
the twisted thoughts that haunt my waking hours.
Oh, my perfectly imperfect love,
I am trying.
And I think,
I think I am growing to be so drastically
better
but I am terrified,
almost to the point of paralysis,
to fall again.