You fell in love with me.

I just hope you jumped.
Not slipped.

I learned that we rush to grow up
since the day we turn fifteen

that our childhood dream
of being invisible
has turned into a terrible nightmare

that we hope to read our future
in the smoke of cigarrettes
and that we look for answers
at the bottom of the bottles

that flying means more than
throwing yourself from the roof
and floating beyond the sky

that if we stop sleeping
we would mix reality
and dreams
and sometimes that's all we need

That maybe the cure of cancer lives
inside the mind of a child
who can't afford education

that no one would behave as society demands
if we had nothing to lose

that hearts only break once for real
and that liars were once
the purest

that cold and heartless people
don't really exist

that we all have scars
maybe not in our wrists
but in our hearts and souls
or in the little universes that we create
and crumbled down

that we all had an imaginary friend
to keep us from being alone
when mom and dad used to fight

that the best poetry cones from chaos and pain
and that we use art to release our anger
because it's just art
and it doesn't worry anyone

that if each of us were a little bit kinder
less people would wish to disappear
and the world would be a better place

I understood that the books are a lot like mirrors
that we only see in them
what we already carry inside of us

that if we would send less texts
we'd know when a friend feels lonely
that we rather take pictures of the moment
than livig it with the person sitting next to us

That there are no potions to forget the pain
nor chocolates that makes us feel better

that we are all a little crazy
and we are okay with that
that happiness depends on us
and how bad we look for it

but this is just what I learned
and I don't know...
what did you ?

i used to think
that i was a tiny dancer
in a music box,
spinning and sparkling
in front of a little mirror,
and girls would make me dance
when they were at their worst,
i would dance and smile,
and their tears would dry,
and they would see their beauty
behind me,
but i was just looking in the wrong mirror.
i used to think i was
the dawn,
stretching out over the horizon,
untouchable,
but dusk came.
i used to call myself
superwoman (or supergirl, because i hadn't
grown up)
and i thought i was invincible,
but i broke my arm when i
ran towards the villain.
i used to say i was a pop-star,
with thousands of adoring fans,
until i realized only my mum
liked my singing.
and then i saw
a monster in the mirror,
and it consumed me for
what felt like forever,
until, finally,
i realized that i was a
tiny dancer,
and if i danced,
i could dry my own tears.
i was the dawn,
but i was also the dusk,
bringing stars to the
broken hearted
(bringing stars to myself)
and i wasn't superwoman,
or even supergirl,
but i could befriend her
and learn her ways.
and when i sang to
the people who mattered,
the people who i loved,
they were soothed,
they liked to hear me sing,
and all was well.
sometimes,
i can still see that monster,
but behind her is the girl
who i know i can be.

its been

about two months

since i cut my heart,
since i summoned my mind

since i kneeled before thee,
and bled my heart out for you
as if you were some sort of oppressive ******* god

in which i kept my thoughts so dear
as i was forced to read your virtues,
before i was playing your little games

its been so long, my child
since i held dear to your scriptures,
since i curled you up against me
as i whispered my sins to pass unto you

i have been subjected to secrets,
to new lies,
to the unfamiliar,
to those in which i hate

scumbags, all of them
sometimes im unsure whether or not i should reflect
and take down them
or myself

im a wretched being
and so are you, pig ****

not really,
i couldnt **** for my life


it's been while since i posted on here
hello - poetry

It is 7.30 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together like days of the week, normalcy perspiring in the air behind us.
It is 7.31 and I am still thinking about your cheekbones, collarbones, hipbones. I am still thinking about your bones. You haven't returned my phone calls in a week.
It is 7.32 and I am still thinking about forest fires.
It is 7.33 and I am still thinking about clocks ticking and how it's kind of funny how we are always counting the days we have left, instead of the days we have.
It is 7.34 and I am still thinking about how my apologies never really cut it.
It is 7.35 and I am sorry.
It is 7.36 and I wonder how hard it is to tie a noose.
It is 7.37 and I am still thinking about the normal length of a pause when you're telling someone you love them, too.
It is 7.38 and I love you, too.
It is 7.39 and I am still trying not to think about how loud the doorbell echoes in the entrance hall now.
It is 7.40 and I am still thinking about the absence of stairways.
It is 7.41 and I am still thinking about hunger pains and alleyways and the warmth of your hand on my spine.
It is 7.42 and there are some things you can't say to other people but holy ****, I miss you.
It is 7.43 and I'm sorry again.
It is 7.44 and I am still thinking about short hands on clocks.
It is 7.45 and I am still imagining footfalls landing heavy on the carpet outside my bedroom and trying not to hope they're yours.
It is 7.46 and I hope they're yours.
It is 7.47 and I am still thinking about the glass in my ribcage digging in harder than your fingernails ever could.
It is 7.48 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together.
It is 7.49 and I'm sorry again.