You told me we were a movie,
But we were more than a 2 hour scripted piece of art.
I remember the willow trees and how they'd weep over us when we felt like weeping, too.
I remember the sunsets and how they came around 7:30 pm,
Now the fickle sun sets at 4 pm.
I remember the girl who told us we were beautiful,
In her own way
she was a sign of the great perhaps before us.
I remember desperately wanting to kiss you,
Even though I reserved those moments for the late nights we were intoxicated
when you somehow made your way into my arms every time
And how our lips would accidentally brush against each other,
softly,
And innocently.
I can't help but realize that you must have known how I felt
And how much I wanted to hold you.
Or how when you rested your head on my shoulder that one morning,
You definitely could hear my heart skip a beat.
So maybe if you're right, and if this is a movie,
You've chosen to end it.
Or maybe you've decided your character has moved on,
Leaving me alone under the shade of the willow trees
With my cigarettes and 4 pm sunsets.

The end

Bitterly clinging to my skin,
the windows of your car have frozen over.
4:00 AM
and you're curling up to me,
making jokes in my ear.
I've forgotten who we are
to compensate for who we were.

I can still feel them
Warm sweet kisses on my
bare shoulder
Gentle and passionate
I could feel and others could see
How much you love me

"Dear God,
I want to be a poet."

I want to speak in silver metaphors that slither into ear canals and seep into cortexes.
Words that turn eyes to a new perspective,
that crack your skull wide open with honest art.
Reality and creativity,
Taped together and painted over in the truest colours of life.

I want to speak in that powerful, yet still human, voice.
To quake the ground beneath you until you are shaken up
and you shed that exoskeleton of hurt,
or fear,
or doubt,
or ignorance.
I want all of that lifeless skin to loosen its grip around you,
and not bind you so tightly to complacency.

I want to establish communities of words,
that take you in as their own.
Delivered so rhythmically that your own pulse will begin to race inside of you,
parallel to the lines I've written.

I want to make you run with these words,
feel the winds against you,
push past the resistance and onto freedom,
as every weight lifts off of you.
So I can show you that your shoulders were not made to carry boulders,
your eyes were not meant for harsh tears,
and that everyone needs a break sometimes....

I want to be a poet because if I know the truth, I want to share it.
Wear proclamations on the palms of my hands,
hope radiating from my worn skin.

I want to write poems because I know that we're all human,
so why hide it?
Why hide our emotions when we can let them take flight?
If we've gotten through the tangled mess, why can't we reach back and help the next hero climb though?

I want to show love.
I want to understand,
I want to now who I am.

"Dear God,
Thank you for giving me a notebook as a best friend,
and giving me a copy of yours.
I know that no matter how far off I stray with my imagination,
I will always know what is truth."

I wanted to be a poet,
but now,

*I just want to be me

Because the definition of beauty isn't something as simple as your face
It's your very soul and mind  
The way you look at things with such childlike curiosity
Your mind an ocean of untapped creativity  
Your heart forever expanding, fueled by love and joy
And yet you still look in the mirror every single day, hating the person you've become
So you twist yourself into something ugly and fake
Don't tell me nothing's wrong when I can see you slowly dying inside and letting society  chain you up and break you down  Until all you can hear is; "Skinny, pretty, skinny, pretty, skinny, pretty,-"
You see the size of those jeans. Doubting, criticizing. Esteem thin as paper.  
Posting a million pictures to get likes from complete strangers. Wanting, craving, needing people to tell you that you’re beautiful. Looking for anyone else’s opinion but your own.
Because you refuse to look into that ****** mirror and even associate beauty with that person staring back at you.  
You judge your self-worth by weather or not a man finds you attractive.
Because that’s the only thing that matter right?
The definition of beauty that others set fourth for you.
A path that you don’t dare stray from.
It wasn't always like this
Being young, being free, meant being you
Laughing as hard as you wanted to
Smiling with your teeth  
And wearing that cute dress you've always loved.  
Getting older, getting bullied, getting shamed
Your laugh was obnoxious  
Teeth were just a bit crooked  
That dress, not as cute anymore
We shouldn't be wasting our lives trying to impress people
Don't look to others to tell you you're beautiful  
Look inside of yourself
And if you don't see anything worth wild
You're not looking hard enough
You judge yourself by looks alone. Not factoring in who you are as an individual.  
Whether you want to believe it or not you're beautiful, inside and out
I think it's about ****** time you stop listening to someone else's definition of beauty
And start looking for your own

i remember the first time you had told me you loved me.
you had called me one warm night, when it was barely summer,
but barely fall
and i was hopelessly nervous
to speak with you with my roommates in the house.
they hadn't met you yet, but they might as well have known about
that kind smile and the impeccable way you had of
forcing me to feel things that turned me into absolute mush.

you were slurring your words, and talking about god-awful
things that had happened to you that evening.
i always wondered how you got so caught up in such twisted
situations - situations that felt like, i wanted to protect
you from, somehow, with these god-awful tiny hands.
if i could somehow calm the storm inside of you by cradling
your face in my hands, then i would hold you all the time.

i had missed you so much, i remember thinking, because
the butterflies in my stomach were unceremoniously unsettling,
detached from my thoughts, i wanted nothing more than to
just have my head on your shoulder with your fingers wound in mine,
i wanted nothing more than to promise you that i would never
give up.

i remember realizing that i wouldn't be able to have you as often
as i could have when school began and slowly started to gobble
up time i wish
i never wasted on books, on paper, on facts i won't ever need.
what theory means more than the fact that i needed
you more than anything?
- it petrified me to realize that
you were one good thing that i knew for certain, and every thing
else felt like a game, you were so real in my face, like i've just been
going with the flow this entire time, that this whole charade i've
constructed around me has boiled down to be utter *******.

love, you stuttered and stumbled, and stopped yourself mid-multiple-sentences.
you kept telling me that you appreciated me, and i don't know why,
to this day,
why on earth you decided to love me the most out of all the girls
that you could have, any time.
it never felt like i deserved it - never felt like i was enough for
you to love me this much.

and suddenly, you had just said it. and when you had said it,
you had repeated it, you had told me that
i was worthy, somehow. i don't understand, still, to this day,
why,
you ever
loved me at all.

it felt like a dream baby boy, i had loved you all along.
it felt like you were suddenly all mine, and it felt like things
were falling so neatly into place.
i had loved you all along,
i had loved you all along.