i know the devil
isn’t the one to lead us all into Hell
because there’s no chance
he’s that good
at hiding behind crystal blue eyes.

if you told me seven months ago
that those blue eyes
would lead me here,
i would’ve thrown my head and laughed.

yet
here i am.
and there you are.
in your hand,
my heart.

i’d never thought
i’d be one to beg,
but then again i never thought
i could be this foolish.

my words ricochet off the walls
each with as much power as a bullet
yet they never seem to hit you,
and only come back to hurt me.

as you look me straight in the eyes,
clouded over from..something..
a glance at your hand
leaves me grasping at my chest.

the pain seems to only intensify
until i look down
and see
that my heart is resting in my own hand..
and i’m crushing it myself.

because this entire time,
i’ve been staring in a mirror,
imagining you there,
all the things we could have been
and should have done.

but in the end,
you disappeared and lied,
and i had to realize
that in all of this,
i’m only hurting myself.

i said i'd let go.
but here i am, still wishing
over words for you.

this isn’t my fault.
yet here we are,
you pretending to be
the damaged prince
and i portrayed
as the damning witch
who may wield love
but never know it.

funny how
when you know someone so well
it's the easiest to be deceived by them.
                       i swear i never lied.
                       every word i told her,
                       every thing i did,
                       was true and real.
this entire time,
i've been falling more and more each day,
only to discover,
it had all been set up.
                       i swear, i did.
                       i promise, i did.
his eyes,
his hair,
his lips,
his heart..
i had fallen for it all.
                       the first time we talked,
                       i still remember.
                       the first time i told you,
                       i still remember.
he had told me he loved me.
                       i had told her i loved her.
and after
when i had realized that i've never felt this way before,
i've never met anyone like him before,
i had told him i loved him too.
                       and soon,
                       it was a normal goodbye.
                       soon,
                       she had told me she loved me too.
i've tried so hard
to never dive too deep,
jump too far.
                       she had taken a leap of faith..
                       all for me.
but now that i did,
after all that's happened,
and nothing that can be taken back,
now that i've learned,
i've realized.
i still love him.
                       i still love her.

but now, it's just too late.

you were mine
but all i wanted
was to hear you say
that i was yours.

to all those who ask why i write poetry-
you're always asking.
why can't you just accept it?

it just so happens that the looping letters
and delicate metaphors
are my way of speaking the words hidden inside
that my lips are too afraid to form.
stop saying poetry is hard,
that just because of that,
you must be forced.
i've learned that anyone can become a poet,
if they're not afraid to let their true feelings inside
spill out from their fingertips
and flow through the ink on the page.
we may all be poets,
allowing our twisted metaphors
or straight up confessions
to talk for us.

so why write poetry?
to all those who ask-
write poetry
because you no longer will allow the words that build up inside
to become the fear that controls you.

He branded her skin with his words
and claimed her body with his hands.

He tied a knot around her heart
and tugged in times of despair.

He was a chef in the art of lies
and he knew just how much sugar she liked.

He knew her,
the shape of her curves,
the waves in her hair,
the desire in her lips..
the cracks in her mask.

He knew how she valued words,
how they were as valuable to her as music to him.

He knew how she longed for knowledge,
how it brightened her eyes and enlightened her heart.

He knew her,
everything about her,
because she could go on for hours
and never run out of words she wanted to share with him.

He had told her he loved her.

And then he just could never seem to remember to tell her again.

i can't remember the last time
i cried myself to sleep.
i guess that's a good thing.

i can't remember the last time
i cried two nights in a row.
i guess that's a good thing.

well,
good if it lasts.
it's good until that next night comes,
and the next,
and the one after that.
and each and every time,
silent tears roll down your cheeks.

so i guess it's a good thing that i can't remember.
but that also means that when i fall,
i fall hard and fast,
and i shatter
leaving so much more work to do now
than what would have ever been needed.

i'm not sure which hurts more:
          the fire burning at my insides
                    or the calm that just won't hide.

she was a mess.
but it was okay
because no one could see
her internal clutter.

but then he came around,
and soon he was her morphine.
he became her stars,
and her sun.

and no longer
would the mess inside
take over,
not when he was there.

but soon,
the nights were too foggy for the stars to appear
and her words would form waterfalls
cascading down into the depths of her heart.

soon,
the moon would fall in love with her sun,
and the clutter inside would only grow,
blocking any light from creeping in.

too soon,
the mess would be indestructible,
and too hard to hide.

and now,
there was no one to stop it.

he was smart
and he was kind.
but what i failed to realize
was that he was blind.

blind to my words,
and blind to how i felt.
he couldn't see how what he was doing to me,
was tearing me apart.

I have a talent that not all can say they do.
Not God-given,
Or even special, really.
More of a skill, a trick taught in the darkness.
The one that suddenly appears
After nights of trying to bat away
the curled talons that inch my traitors forward.
My traitors.
How dare they betray me,
How dare they fall in love with the hand that says will give them all,
And leave me shaking,
In the bitter, dark, coldness of my room.
I have a talent that not all can say they do:
I’ve learned how to stay silent
When even my heart gives out,
And leaks its sorrows,
Staining my cheeks.
I’ve learned how to silence the pounding words in my head,
The profanities I never got to shout.
I’ve learned how to silence the grief that comes in toppling waves,
Because being in numbers is being stronger.
I’ve learned how to silence the ever-growing sorrow and grief,
That attacks in the dead of night,
With a jab at your heart
and a buzz in your head.
Never leaves,
Yet not always present.
But here I am,
Here I still stand,
Silenced and surviving.