We cooked Mac n cheese and you grabbed my waist.
We kissed like we were each others oxygen,
Like we hadn’t breathed since the last time,
Like our lungs craved the other’s breath.
You felt warm and safe,
As the thunder rolled,
You held me closer.
You felt like home.
We played house for a night,
And I saw what the rest of my life could look like.
But I knew that’s al we were doing,
Just playing.
Even tho it felt so right,
I knew it was just the moment.
So I woke in the morning,
Your warm body next to mine,
Kissed your sleeping soul one last time,
And closed that night in these words that I write.

I’m a stay for the last song,
Even if it means we get home late.
Cry because the moment is too perfect.
Miss you after the drive home.
Always down for anything.
Skinny dip in the lake.
Kiss you on the lips and laugh.
Kinda person.

It’s 3am
And I’m eating cereal in bed.
My thoughts wander
But always come back to you.
You’re why I can’t sleep.
You’re why sometimes I can’t breathe.
You’re why my cereal went soggy.

I've been lost, like really lost.
Like lonely lost,
Like empty lost,
Like numb lost.
So many things are changing,
And I'm so empty and sad.
Things are so complicated right now,
Right always.

You are thousands of miles away,
And I can not even hear your voice,
Yet I can feel your hands trembling.
I worry about you,
Far more than I should.
Do not apologize for being exhausted,
For it is about time you let go.
Give yourself a break.
Breathe the ocean air that surrounds you,
And let go of everything.

writing everything down,
feeling it one last time,
so I can let my words do the remembering
and let my mind replace the memories with new better love.

My days would begin and end in bed.
I would not have the strength to go on with life.
I would not cry, I would be in too much pain to cry.
I would not eat, I would be in too much pain to eat.
I would not sleep, for my thoughts would consume my mind to the point where I could not shut them off.
I would not speak, nor feel. I numb myself.
I would be broken.
I would be lost.
You have been in my life for such a short time that these ideas are not justifiable,
but they are real.
And I would not "go to your funeral"
I would be in too much pain.
I would not be able to see all those people who love you missing you.
Because I could not bear missing you that much more.
I would not be able to bear the fact that when they reminisce about your life I would not be mentioned.
Because I was a dot on your line of life,
While you were my entire line.

I hope it rains on my wedding day.
That way my hair will become all frizzy like it does,
That way my white dress will drag through muddy puddles,
That way my stilettos will sink into the soft, wet earth.
Because all to often things go the way we want.
And I find beauty in the unplanned happenings,
Beauty in the imperfect.

I write best when I'm sad.
Maybe because I'm being more honest with myself in these moments.
But I think about everything.
About how many seconds it takes for air to consume every inch of my lungs.
About why raindrops fall together but are always seperate drops.
About how the weather can change a person.
About how many colors we have yet to experience.
But I cannot say I hate being sad.
Sometimes it gives me peace.
Because being sad is better than feeling nothing.
And most days I wouldn't flinch at a knife in my lungs.

I always write in pen.
If I were to write in pencil,
My words would be artificial.
Edited and overthought so much that they were no longer my words.
And some things are better left unedited.
Left as the things I did not think,
But felt.

My heart aches because I want all of you, all at once.
I am ready for you.
But your not quite ready for all of me,
Or to give me all of you.
Your mind is a little more indecisive about us.
But I'll wait; I'll stay close.
I'll let my fingers lie in between yours, without grasping tightly;
I'll let our lips touch, without kissing you;
I'll let my heart love, without falling for you, yet.

You kissed me last night.
And never would I have thought that
falling asleep in your arms at 2am
would feel so much like home,
but it did.
Yet you seem distant today.
Maybe it's because you know we're real
but if I'm being honest with myself I know it's because your done with me already.
And that hurts like hell.

There is something different about you,
Something I cannot let go
No matter how many times WE have failed.
There is something different about this time.
Something more genuine,
Something that shows a glimmer of hope.
You have changed,
I have changed,
And maybe we finally have time on our side.
Because you make me sick in the best way possible,
Because the thought of you is frightening and ties my stomach in knots.
Maybe it is a dull ache of knowing it will end the same way.
Or maybe
Just maybe
It's because I know it won't.

I've come to love myself.
If nobody else is willing to,
I'll do it for myself.
Even if it includes being the only one that loves me.
I'm an independent person.
And finally loving myself is great,
But I'm ready to let someone in.
For it was only my own lonely head,
Left to conversate with itself.
I'm ready to finally release all I've been holding onto.
I'm ready to let someone else take the gun from my collapsing hand,
And fight for me.
Because only God knows how close I am to implosion.

And why,
If she is just collateral damage
In your playbook of games,
Do you keep revisiting the idea of her?
Why do you keep offering just enough of yourself to her,
Just enough so that she can grasp to you without holding you?
You are making her more weak everyday that she strives to hold on.
One day her grip will slip.
And it will all be over,
Her loving you,
You having someone to boost your ego,
You having someone you know is always there,
And her. You will end her.

The world is not yet awake.
I can hear my own heart throb in my chest.
I can hear air rush in and out of my lungs.
At 2am I can clear my head of everything that consumes it,
And remember to breathe,
And enjoy being alive,
At 2am.

You were in the house I visited tonight.
The boy I right all my poems about,
10 feet below me.
Your car was parked in the street next to mine
We were in the same house,
But in completely different homes.
I could hear your voice echo up the stairs,
Yet when I left you had yet uttered a word to me.
Nor had I seen that you truly existed within that home.

yeah I'm fine, why do you ask?
is it because you miss me,
or do you miss me missing you?
is it because you still love me,
or are you afraid I'm starting to not love you,    anymore?

I heard you met someone new.
She seems nice.
And you seem happy.
And although I'm sick to my stomach,
I'm happy.
Because your happy...
Or are you?

i am a writer.
no matter what, that is what I am.
my mid afternoon ice cream snack can turn into a 300 word poem.
nothing comes easy to me except words.
writing is an escape.
it is a way to feel everything and nothing at the same time.
writing to me is like breathing.
without it my whole world would implode.
my mind would fill with thoughts enough to fill the pits that have been left in my soul.
if I did not write I would not live.

My first love has a name. He has a story, a dark side, and a side he hides. He has craters of secrets as deep and complex as the moon, and he holds within him things I'll never quite understand. I didn't think someone could captivate my heart so easily and effortlessly. He means nothing to some, but is the world to me. He still has me completely enamored with how perfect and beautiful and kind and loving he is. His dark side, some will never see it. But sometimes you just love everything about a person, and I love his dark side, the side he doesn't show to most. The side he's ashamed is a part of him. His eyes scream for attention, and I see something in him most don't. He is the most perfect human I have ever crossed patches with, and I love everything about him. This world is a treacherous place, and when I begin to drown, he is the person I want to hold me, he is the person I want to run to. But things are different now. Unfortunate circumstances led to one thing, and led to another, and things just aren't the same. I no longer can tell you my secrets. Can no longer know you'll be there to talk when things get to be a little much. Sometimes I catch you watching me. You'll just stop and stare into my eyes for seconds, that seen like time stands still, crack your beautiful soft smile, I smile back, and we continue with our day. It's our little secret, and it seems to me there's something inside you that still screams "go get her". It's nice to know some days, that little part of you comes out that still loves me. I will never stop loving you. And I'm afraid I'll never quite love someone as much as you, and that scares me, but I love you, I do.

I wish I had stories to tell of us watching the stars and talking about our dreams and what our last thought before we drift to sleep is. I wish we had summer afternoons of jumping off old train bridges into warm summer rivers, and a first date. But instead I have memories I swiped left and deleted. We had a fake relationship with real feelings. At first we never pushed past our age, we were both young so we resorted to sitting by each other in the movies, while our friends two seats away had no clue it was planned. And the second time, I can't even write about it because it still hurts so much. But I still see you, you know, and I know you see me too. I may not be your person anymore, but your still mine.

You will love people
And people won't love you
And people you don't love will love you
You will hurt people
And people will hurt you
And people will hurt
And you will hurt
You will live
You will feel alive
People will make you feel alive
People will make you feel
You will feel
And you won't feel
You will feel loss, and love, and pain,
And you will feel
You will be wrong, while being right
And your life and you will be a contradiction in itself
And you will love people.

I hate clothes. Always have always will. Clothes remind me of what I am not. They force my wondering thoughts to drift and remember that these pants don't fit quite right. I run my fingers across my waist discretely reminding myself that there is more of me here than I desire. Reminding me that you probably see all that I am not. But I desire for you to see ****. Not my body bare and sexualized, but a way in where my millions of masks are destroyed, and all that remains is me, my last years memories, and my this years scars. The things I hide from most I crave to let you explore. I want you to wander my tall forests, and find the bunny trails that I forgot to look for. I want you to dive into my deepest ocean and find the treasure buried underneath the everchanging ground; to look farther than the smallest star you see at night; to put my galaxies back together, and fix my constalations. I want you to find me. I want you to run your fingers down my spine and remind me of how I got that scar; to hold me, in this mess that I am, while our masks lay at our feet, with our clothes scattered in between. **** being all that remains.