If I could write ten thousand reasons in the stars for you to see
and know that I love you, then I would
but galaxies divide us, and I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Just know that part of you has shaped my sky.

It's hard to go back to reality after being really happy. It gets so bad that i can't even see my own hands in the dark. Sometimes i feel as if the darkness is consuming me, and the only way to stop it is to let it take over, letting the fire that is my life burn out. I don't let this happen though, as i feel like my one earthly duty is to protect the people that i love.

name ten thousand reasons why you never wanna die
go and tell someone who might have forgotten.

oh, what I would do to silence my mind
you don't know how rare it is to find quiet
how hard it is to come by peace- what I would do
for a little stillness, a cease in motion,
a tiny taste of death- just for one moment,
please, just for one moment, I would like to stop thinking.

My head is constantly spinning
And I can't seem to regain my balance,
I'm so depressed that I can't see straight, But since I'm young
I guess those feelings aren't even valid

We live on a floating rock, constantly rotating around the sun
Yet people are still worried about random boys who like it up the ****.
We're too concerned about one another rather than what's truly important:
Like staying in our own lanes, and teaching things that are less adhordent

It's 2015 and people are still being judged by their color  
When really we should be judged based upon How we treat each other

society is taking a negative turn, no doubt about it
with ignorant people preaching hate,
saying that a woman is at fault when she gets *****.

"She was asking for it" they say,
as they sexualize shoulders and legs
thinking that a woman wearing a short dress
Is just begging for their toxic kiss

The only thing I'm begging for
Is a change of heart in the hateful,
Who say my love isn't real
Because it isn't "full, fruitful, and faithful"

My love is fuller than
You will ever know
it's not my fault that you live
life with your eyes closed

I'll love who I want
Because **** she's so fine
And anyone who looks at me differently
Is no friend of mine

And a final "*******"
To all the ******* in This small town
Who think they look better when they
Put another person down

(You don't look better, you look like an ******.)

when I, or you, wake up and go downstairs
to see our parents in the morning and they say
I love you, how do you do, and you say
I love you, slept well, how about you?
and they say, good, me too, and you go to school.

You go to school where they tie and fasten your noose
and pull you under gray skies until you swear
you'll lose your mind, you go to school where you lie
and wait- covert eyes, surreptitiously despise that you have to
whisper to me, between closed walls and closed doors, I love you.

In this world of rules and halfway angry, halfway desperate
people, we build palaces so as not to see the little black box
underneath it all, this indestructible fortress, where no one can hide
or conceal, every time you open it, you get more and more undressed
naked, under the glaring light. (But hold me tight.) I love you.

when, in storms and cliffs, half past raging and half through sadness
what can we do to end this madness, when even in
the depths of our beings, even in the darkest of magic
we can't find the strength to say it, I can't open my mouth
because I've said it too much or too little, maybe, but I love you.

When the spires and pillars and holy desires clash, and this
Church cannot stand on sand, what is the one thing they've forgotten
they say that marriage is less, and more, too, but they don't
even know what they mean, after eternity's lost all hope of despair, what
is the one phrase that their God cannot bear? I love you.

In alleyways of the heart, in broken and forgotten verse- in drunkenness
and dying, what slips in through the cracks that the light gets in? What
scandal is too vulnerable to be wounded? Why do they call it sin? the blood
that flows under the current, between the leaves of book pages and underneath
pulses beats from long ages, (please have the nerve to say it), I love you.

If, at the end of time, when there are no more rhymes
when the forests are burnt to ashes and all life left has died
when breath no longer rattles through the bones of the dirt
and the darkness has quenched all of our God-lit thirst
what have we left on this Earth? I love you.

Sometimes I hate caring.
It's an emotion that punishes you for being a good person.