Selife, Skype, Of Mice & Men, and so much more.
Those are a few things to describe my sister,
We're weird crazy and funny,
Always obsessing over our favorite bands.

She's always there to pick me back up,
When I manage to fall on my face,
If I don't think I can manage,
She's the force that slaps me across the face,
Making me snap out of it.

Music is my calling,
She's known that since the beginning,
She always hears me singing,
And tells me that I will be able to get where I want to go.

She's the Alan Ashby to my Austin Carlile,
The Alex Gaskarth to my Jack Barakat,
The Kellin Quinn to my Vic Fuentes.

Other people might not get what I'm about,
But I know she'll always be there when I want to throw myself off a bridge.
When the lyrics I want to write just won't come.

No matter how many boys break my heart,
Or how many labels turn me down,
She's always going to be right by my side,
To turn that frown around,
And push me towards the finish line.

There's no one quite like my sister,
And I hope she knows,
That I wouldn't have made it this far,
Without her.

"Your hands are meant to hold."
That's always what you told me,
But you never said by who.

I've tried so many hands,
Linking them with my own,
Like trying to find,
That one **** puzzle piece,
That always gets lost in the pile.

I thought I found that missing piece,
That hand to fit perfectly in my own.
But apparently I wasn't his missing puzzle piece,
Because he left me there,
Standing,
Crying in the dark.

I stopped looking for that piece.

But then you come along,
With that face no one knows,
Yet everyone knows your name.
A phantom to the eye,
Yet not to the ear.
With your electric personality.

You take my hands in yours,
Intertwine our fingers,
Making me feel worlds away from the hurt I was just in.

You knew from that day,
When you talked about my hands,
You knew that the only place they would truly fit,
Was your own.

I'm alive
Here is my unadulterated heart
Bring on the pain and suffering
The scary bits of possible rejection

This is vulnerability