every mistake i make
opens yet another canyon in the ground,
and just as i begin to hesitate,
you tighten your grip.

every mistake i make
ends up with you disappointed
and me with
double-sided thoughts so sharp
they could ****.

and yet every time
i come to the same concluding solution of-sorts-
does it hurt me more to stay
or hurt you more if i left?

she is made of star stuff,
the lingering effect
of supernovas
colliding
and light
thrown in every direction,
the breathtaking sight
of immortal beauty,
the kind that shines
for centuries,
only to reach a destination
that doesn't worship her
as he does the blinking planets.

i wish to forget you.
but forever will you remain
in the soft curves
and sharp wit
of my poetry,
hidden
behind double meanings
and shards of my heart,

each line
its own wave,
stroking and begging
the shore
to remember,
please remember…
as seaglass eyes
meet my own,

and somehow
i’m drowning
standing still,
when slender hands
follow their own rhythm
and now
i am fire,
full of flames,

just then
those plush pink
lips
drip sugar-coated lies
and soon
i crave
the inadequacy
of your attention

i wish to forget you.
i may pretend,
but you are tangled
within my poetry-

this love may be mortal
but these words are eternal.

your words
have this ability
to drag my heart up
from the wallowing depths
of my sorrow,
your voice,
velvet smooth,
each syllable
softly
saving me,
your eyes,
cerulean,
never faltering,
brush over me,
watching and worried..

but now,
all i can seem to notice
is how soft your lips are,
how close we stand,
this tie between us..
it would fray too easily
if i were to start tying knots.

to be a writer..

it’s an awfully emotional adventure.

it doesn’t mean
you’ve always got a pen in hand.
it also doesn’t mean
you’ve got too many voices in your head.

to be a writer
means to fall in love young,
and to never fall out of love.
because like a true love,
the words will never leave you
or never let you down.

to be a writer
means that you want it;
you crave the aligned phrases,
the scratch of lead on paper,
the depth of the ink soaking in.
the beauty that the words leave behind.

to be a writer
means that you need it,
that without it,
you’re not sure how you’d speak
without a voice.
it means that early in the morning,
when your cheeks are stained with tears
and your heart is trembling
within its cage
the flow of words
coming from inside
is the only thing that can save you.

to be a writer..

is an awfully wonderful adventure.

sometimes i visit a place
where the fire always burns,
and the sun never fades.

a world
where my words
cut invisible scars
that only bleed when no one's looking.

a land
with mile-wide canyons
that shelter a dark abyss,
one which can curl its smoky whispers
and turn any heart against its soul.

a locale
with double-edged mirrors
that hold truths too harsh
for the ordinary beauty of reality.

sometimes i visit a place
fueled by the flames
and stretched wide with darkness,
where no one can hide
from that ugly inside.

oh honey
we’re meant to be
don’t say
i don’t love you,
i know
i will win this raging battle inside,
but i also said
i would win over your heart,
my truth is
i can’t wipe my memory clean of you,
can’t wash your touch off my body,
i can’t warm my hands where yours used to be,
i just can’t let you go that easy.

now read bottom to top.

darling, don't be afraid.
it's okay
to be jealous.

don't be afraid,
don't let it **** you.
become jealous of the idea of him,
of all he could have given you,
and all you have to share.

do not become jealous
of the girl who's now there instead.

darling, don't be afraid.
it's okay
to be jealous..
to have an itch
and a wish
of what he now has
that you don't.

don't let it **** you,
don't let the fear get in your head
and warp your beautiful mind.
you are real and kind,
and more than he deserves-
do not become less than that.

do not become jealous
of the girl who's now there instead.

fate...
an invisible power
meant to intertwine our strings
but soon disappear
so everyone else may watch us
begin to fray
where we've tied our knots.

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.

she still
wished on dandelions
and colored her dreams in crayon.

but then you appeared.

and at first,
your presence covered her
with a sense of comfort and belonging,
a blanket of serenity and warmth.

but once you had captured her young heart,
she lost all control.

soon, you erased all color from her dreams,
forbid wishes of any sort.
this blanket you had weaved
had become a cage
... and yet her heart still loved
the man who had now become
its dictator.

hi, you geek.
this one’s for you.
not that this is the only one
about you,
but for now,
it’s the only one i’m writing for you.

i love you.
three words
that tasted like sweet candy
on my lips
after i told you.

also three words
that i came to regret.

but now i see,
as much as i lie
and hide behind
my crafty facade,
the truth still remains
as a weight in my mind.

i love you,
you geek.

she is quiet-
no, she is
silenced-
by the rows
of expectant expressions
pinning her down.

she is hopeful,
painting pictures with words
and narrating with implication,
hopeful
for a future
she won't want to hide from.

she is honest,
but with only her pen,
who seems to understand
her every emotion
without even a spoken word.

she is
dreams,
she is
heart.
she is
full of flames,
she is
fire.

you left, you're gone-
i'm not sure how we've moved on.
four years have passed,
god, i can't even believe how fast.
the worst part is...
you seemed to have left her beyond repair
without even a care.

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 have a bad habit.
at night,
when i can’t sleep
and there’s no more room for me to think,
i drink.
i drink your words off the very page,
the rhymes tickling my throat,
the words dancing on my lips.
i have a bad habit.
when even my own mind
is too busy
for me to visit,
i resort to one thing:
i get drunk on your words.

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.

i never saw the ocean
... until today.
it was striking,
yet calm,
but i knew at first glance
there would be no easy escape.
so, naturally,
i went swimming.
and dear god, was that a mistake.
at first sight,
it was a murky blue,
the kind that
hides secrets in swirls,
holds troubles and teases.
the kind that
you knew you could get lost in
but took the risk despite it.

as the sun set,
it became a cool, candid blue.
it breathed with honesty
and covered your every inch
with a sense of power,
whispering with wit.
just a small leap,
and you went spiraling down into its depths.
after all of this,
i didn't want a new beginning
to erase the remnants
of the beauty that had once been.
i was never more wrong.

as the sun danced higher into the sky,
the candid blue before me
had become a picture of genuineness.
the golden light had begun
reflecting
over the intermingling colors,
giving way to a light green,
filled with warmth
and dimpled smiles.
to look closer into this green
was like seeing
miles of untouched, rolling, green hills,
expressing a life of potential
and love.

no matter when i looked into his eyes,
the oceans of color and feeling
were always threatening to overwhelm me,
all beginning the first time
our eyes met.

my heart runs wild
while my fingers stutter,
my mind reaching with sticky fingers
to grasp the right words
and catch them like fireflies
where you can all admire them from afar.

but this,
this love,
this is not like those carefree summer nights,
no, this is the middle of winter-
the biting cold an ever-present guest
just as you happen to be in my mind.

funny how
just the thought of
the comfort of your hand in mine
and the warmth of your lips shielding my own
is enough to block the gusts of cold out.

i’m sorry
that i love you.

yet,
i still can’t stop this.
my heart is a traitor,
is the reason
my pen is stuttering now.

it’s done
and over,
and i know that.
but knowing that
and truly believing that..
well those are two different things.

he drinks the darkness
as though the stars
are his only hopes

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

i fell in love
with a boy
who is not poetry.

he is not
ink and paper
but rather
bones and blood,
curves and edges
smooth
beneath my fingertips.

he is not
definitive words
but rather
light laughter
and soft kisses,
heaven
in a few seconds.

he is not
full of hidden meanings
but rather
giving his entirety
to a girl
who needs to use it
as a blanket.

he is not
poetry.
he cannot fit
inside these lines,
be found
within finite words.
he cannot hide
between periods,
squeeze
into stanzas.

i cannot make him
poetry.
he is perfection
and poetry
is too broken
for a love like his.

darling,
don't you ever doubt yourself-
you are the epitome
of a perfect storm.

your words,
God,
they have the power
to shake universes,
to be the thunder
in someone else's world.

your wit, your intellect,
it strikes...
and the world hits pause
for a moment,
bathed in awe-
in a split second
the shock of your very own lightning
illuminating those around you.

your love,
oh, how i adore how you love,
softly,
with that gentle understanding
gleaming in your eyes.
but passionately,
protecting fiercely,
an ever- burning fire.

darling,
don't you ever doubt yourself-
you could be the perfect storm
in someone else's world

you may be gone,
but at just the sound of your voice,
i become your little girl again
and lose myself
in the hidden memories
of the past.

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

my mom turned out the light
and took away my book.
"no more stories, it's time to focus on your own,"
she scolded,
shaking her head with disappointment.
the door slammed shut quietly
as i sat trying to adjust to the suffocating darkness
when the window creaked open
and in you came with a candle of your own,
along with a blank book
with only one sentence-

"let's write our own- no limits."

Winning everyday
Over those who
Mistakenly don’t realize how strong
Every single one of us is.
Never underestimate a

WOMAN

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.

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.

he told me i was beautiful,
the kind of
forever beautiful
that lives on
in the word always.
no matter
how time warps the world
or how people obey its rules,
the word always
will remain unchanged-
simple,
with an easy elegance,
but with a constant love
that seems to never fade.

logic
makes much less of a mess
than this immature child
we call love

tears should be made of glass
because they're more transparent,
easy to see my soul,
but they aren't
because when they would fall,
they would shatter,
and no longer could that
monster inside
curl its talons around my heart
if i wasn't suffering alone in silence

he told me i was beautiful,
the kind of
forever beautiful
that many seek
but can never find.

as his blue eyes
followed not my body,
but my own hazel ones,
they whispered with innocence
that i was the type
of forever beautiful
that one can find
in the sky.
simple,
but elegant.
dressed in so many colors,
but breathtaking at every moment.

wake up.
why won’t you just stand up?
open your eyes.
i refuse to believe any of the universe’s lies.

stop this.
i hate to reminisce,
don’t let this be true.
we’ve got so many dreams and wishes to pursue.

i don’t understand.
this wasn’t planned,
this is too soon.
who gave three women the right to cut one string?

but no one knows how one string
can affect everything.
once whole,
now two,
frayed at the edges where the scissors broke through.

please, don’t you see what you’re doing to me?
i can’t stop the tears from running free,
can’t stop the sobs from shaking my whole body.
help, please, help, anybody, everybody, somebody.

no matter how much I hold my hands over my ears,
i can hear the universe’s words loud and clear.
no matter how much I wish it for it not to be true,
i know that you’re gone.

nobody knows.
nobody understands I suppose.

i didn’t even get a goodbye.
all I can do now is look to the sky.
and while I may not be able to see you again,
i hope you’ve watched me battle through this unknown terrain.
because if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn,
it’d be that I didn’t know just how strong we can truly be.