Fire burning brightly
Lulling me to sleep
Lapping my face with warmth
Beside you i feel safe
But fire, my dear friend, you have          
a dangerous streak
Heating to burning;
Comforting to disturbing

But right now you’re lulling me to sleep
i’m not watching you close enough to see
as you leap out at me.

You are soooo pretty
This hallow phrase is practically screamed in a girls ear daily; serving as a reminder that her worth lies in how much mascara she clumped onto her eyes or how cinched up is her size.
The praise that we give little girls has to do with the way she dresses or how her curly locks bounce.
We love to tell them, "you are so cute!" because all of a sudden, her mouth curls into a silly little grin because it is already cemented in her brain at age four that she is worth her beauty rather than her character or her brains.
Then in adolescence it seems mom is just grappling to let her poor child know that she is still pretty even though puberty has her popping pimples and crimping her hair with an iron that smells like burned rubber.
Our attempts to fix insecurities are just confirmations of their priorities in our society. So we set these twelve year olds down the path of knowing that the parts of them that are praised, such as silky hair and shiny blue eyes are where they need to focus. and that there should be shame related to what goes unnoticed giving many grown *** women the desire to hide their not so skinny thighs and soulful chestnut eyes.

It makes me feel invisible
and for some reason that hurt doesn't make me burn
instead it just feels normal. Because to love is to fear, a feeling
I would rather just skip over. But your ignorance is bliss
in a stale saltine crackers sort of way
it takes me back to childhood sick days when I felt miserable but kind of settled in.

i hope i find you someday
again.

walking down the street
as beautiful as the first day
again.

wearing same smile
world in your eyes.

bearing all this while
my reason to be alive.

i hope i find you someday
again.

walking down the street
and it's about to rain.

i hope i see you like that
once again.

i know then,
i'll remember your voice
for in the end,
i had no choice but to
delete you

and now after so many
years without you

i still don't have a clue
if there was any without you

for i can still feel you
in my arms

as if you never left
as if you have always been.

you were right here always
in my dreams,
walking down the street,
like we're still sixteen.

always.

Tell me you didn't mean it
Tell me that to you, those words are cheap, rolling off the tongue like butter
but when I hear those words
I think of all the pain that they bring with them
I think of the compromises
of the self sacrificing
of the vulnerability
of the loss that comes inevitability

Did you mean it
I think you did
but to make me feel better just tell me you didn't.

I feel displaced

Like if I let my guard down for a second, my intentions might be misplaced.

And who is here to reckon with this, it would be simpler if my perpetrator had a name; but I think it's just me to blame.

Displaced; misplaced; intentions unseen;
easily erased.

Maybe if you were able to see me you would understand I only want to be known. But to be known takes being seen and being seen takes being known. We are 0 for 2 and I don't know what it means to cry for help so I just stay here unseen, unknown, displaced or maybe misplaced.

I no longer know.