Another sleepless night up late
Reading so my eyes could get tired
But my mind began to wander so I started writing
The air from the fan circling the cold
Deep in thought fed up would complain
But no one is listening ***** not being heard
The quiet while the rest of the world slumbers
Alone in solitude thinking how to change
While the rest of the world remains the same
Over being judged and fighting for a spot
Being replaced by someone to fill the void but they don't have my heart or care like I do
Been broken and disappointed all I want to do is feel and heal
Hard to focus gave my all it wasn't enough tired of thinking I did something wrong.
Hard to breathe feels like I'm fading away when all I want is to exist and belong

Eve of Christmas Eve,
Cross-legged in my reindeer tights,
Sipping stew from a spoon,
Spoon should be bigger, stew needs more meat
More seasoning, I should adjust the ***
Simmering, boiling, stirring
Christmas record playing in the living room,
Lights above the door frame, lights about the fireplace
Lights on the trees outside in the drive

So it's warm in the kitchen, warm from cooking
Baking cookies, chopping onions
This old wood house gets cold but that's alright,
While we keep the fire alight
You'll come in from chopping firewood in the snow
Spin me round and bury into my neck, your icy nose
While I yelp
"Put me down!
Or else kiss the sugar and cookie dough that I missed
Off my cheeks, and just for good measure, my lips"
I forgot to hang mistletoe

It's eve of Christmas eve, my toes tucked under your thigh
Under this blanket we've curled within
There's nothing but a hunk of bread left on the table, the record's spent, and on the TV, credits roll.
A small plastic tree on your desk,
Presents in the closet ready to go
The fire laying low, as we drift asleep, the snow drifts grow outside,
I've got nothing left on my wishlist, no more dreams I can never unwrap, if you just promise...
No, just this is quite alright.

The human heart is like a dam. A vessel that can only hold so much before breaking. But love finds a way to mend the cracks, and build up like a fortress to hold off anything that threatens the stronghold. And you build. And you grow. You become a dam. And here comes the current rushing straight through like a steam engine; like the ghost of what was once yourself passing through you. A coffee table with white powder that flew across the room in your darkest dream. There's a crack in the mirror on the vanity with the reflection of a dam. A deteriorating version of a dam. Almost like all the construction meant nothing.

You break, the waters rush through and **** the townspeople you have been trying to protect for as long as you could stand on your own.

You come to realize thinking you are strong and being strong are two entirely different universes.

There's a novel inside each and every one of us. A story to be told. A cricket that lived in the library of your imagination. A poet. A narrator. Someone who actually wanted to tell your story. The poet. The poet that always wanted to speak for a change. The very same who was told later. At a different change in scenery. And he waits.

And he waits.

And he waits until finally he can't any longer. A tsunami swells in the pit of his chest that night the poet just wanted to profess everything in the front seat of your car with the stars above us. Smoke tendrils that left your lips and fogged up the window. The same smoke tendrils that made our eyes all glossy. And low. How low that valley of self-detrimental actions to a false pretense that the universe was never going to allow. So instead you let the tsunami take its course out of your eyes in the shower, telling yourself you aren't crying, that the hot water is just a little too much. And the steam rises. And there's a rainbow.

Just like the rainbow I see every time you happen to look my way.

And my love, that smile gets me every time.

But I think the poet inside of us all dies when we realize there can be no sentence to make someone fall in love with you. We read these tall tales of love potions and dragons where the brave, heroic knight dashes in on a gallant black steed and the villains love potion never touched a tongue. And the townsfolk cheer. And the poet is dead. The story ends.

Tragedy struck
At just age 13.
My innocence-
Murdered in the rain.
Not the physical rain,
But the rain of my tears.
My story is different,
But just as terrible.
He stole the beauty
Of my soul and heart...
Leaving me dark and alone.
He ripped my confidence
Away with a single tear.
"I love you."
The lie he told
Has made me unable
To be loved.
"You're so beautiful..."
Another lie he told
Has made me unable
To believe this truth.
He ruined my beautiful,
White wings from God.
He replaced them with
Skeletal outlines of what
Once was.
My lovely face has been
Scarred by the streaming
Tears down my face.
Clawing at my skin,
I try to wash away the guilt.
"But the guilt is not yours."
They say.
"It isn't your fault."
"It isn't your fault
That he is an evil man.
It isn't your fault
That he targeted you.
It isn't your fault
That he took advantage
Of a little, naive girl.
It isn't your fault.
It isn't your fault.
It isn't your fault.
*It is not your fault, Elizabeth."

The tool of liars and cheats.
The maker of trust issues.