People told me you were a smoker-
nothing but trouble,
and that you were left overs
from girls who had left because they were
scared
I didn't listen, I just wanted to kiss
away the nicotine, I got withdrawls without
being addicted, and our lips never met
because I kept shoving you away,
you kept reaching for the skin under my 
'Fall Out Boy' t-shirt 
And you told me that I made you hot,
and I just giggled and said you didn't
need me, you were the hottest guy I had ever seen
but I knew what you meant,
I could feel the desire on your breath
against my neck

you took me to a concert
with the music blaring in my ears, I could
barely hear what you said but I could see
the way your eyes moved and the way that my heart started to sink
when our eyes met
so our sweaty bodies pressed against eachother in time to the music
and I laughed when you sang those songs about love and heartbreak
staring at me, because I didn't realize (I never realized)
that I meant that much to you 
(I thought it was always a joke, the way you needed me. I didn't
understand that the music spoke to you about me)

I asked you, still wearing the t-shirt (much to your dismay)
which Fall Out Boy song
could be ours, and as you stared
at the anchor (I asked you to lift your eyes but you wouldn't)
you chose Alone Together, or 
was it The Phoenix, I couldn't remember,
but you said I was your phoenix,
and I laughed and compared you to Albus Dumbledore,
but inside I wasn't laughing, because there was
fiery desire in your finger tips,
and I wondered if I really would burst into flames
(or tears, but either way, would I come back to life?)
But I thought it was the coolest thing
that you thought I was **** (like Finn said to Rachel during their
prom king and queen dance)

but inside I stared at you the same way
watching my heart slowly crack because I was never as desirable
as pretty as she could be.
you deserved to be with somone like her,
someone who's body fits perfectly into yours
who would fit right into a magazine photoshoot right beside you
while I took the photographs of the perfect couple..
I put on my best clothes and dressed up hoping to look like sleeping beauty to you 
but you laughed at me and asked why I looked so fancy
we were only watching Peter Pan, like we did every friday
(and I was Tinkerbell, because you were too blinded by someone else 
to see me)

I remember that I asked you, on a Wednesday 
(you pointed out my bracelet and told me it was **** Day,
and winked, and I shuddered inwardly)
why you left the last girl-
and you said because she was a princess
and I was a queen,
and I laughed and threw my arms around your neck
and we kissed and I tasted nicotine, your hands were cold
against my neck.
That was it. That was my wake up call.
I was nothing but a body to you,
my chest and rear were big,
larger than most,
so I shoved you away again, and then turned on my heel,
and said 'you are my ashes, and I have risen out of you',
and then I was gone on my Phoenix Wings.
But that was not the end of it,
because then I visited her, your ex,
and I told her what happened, and let myself cry a little,
and the two of us watched Peter Pan,
and I made a friend, because we had both dated Captain Hook.

And I have the most terrible feeling I wouldn't mind,
because it doesn't matter to me,
my childhood inventions, concepts,
all distraught and rusted,
my instincts, faded,
my sense of humanity, lacking.

But hey, I feel as if I'm charmed,
as if I'm charmed to not;
have emotions from cost benefit diagrams,
being enthralled because the higher ups said I should be melodious,
not being tricked into that the strident labor is the melody to gyrate by.

However,
my mind is nothing but a series of hallways,
polluted only with that truth, hazed by the fog,
only saying to people's argument "We'll all die in sixty, seventy years, why does any of this matter?"
letters from my mother, piling up,
having yet to give a reply,
that has been aging in my notebook for the past three months.

I feel trapped,
I feel as if I can't function,
the clogs in my brain moving counter-clockwise,
disobeying my false hopes,
disobeying the sight of the flowers on the ground,
and replacing them with thorns as if suitable.

As I watch the world function,
the riots, the massacres,
the back-stabs similar to Cesar,
their tears washing away with the sea,
their sentiment carried by the wind, and away again,
only to say "All is lost, and will be lost again."

But I'm joyed to know that,
eventually,
everything will be a blank slate,
nothing, nothing at all,
for I can tremble in fear,
only to see the purified reform,
and its empire crashing again.

You said good morning, beautiful, how did you sleep?
You made too many promises you just couldn't keep.
You said "You'll be okay, just maybe not today"
That was just what I wanted you to say
I fought to keep you out
But you were too strong
I let down my walls
**** was I wrong

My hips were meant for your lips
Your words were the holy water I sipped
My scars are there because of you
So I guess you won't be kissing them anytime soon



And when you touched my skin, I could feel the future
I could see the past, and I could feel her
I asked "Do I have your heart"
Or will your pretty ex-girlfriend tear us apart?

Of course you said- 'I love you, baby, we'll last forever'.
And I felt like every day was the first day, the first time you said you loved me
Until the past pulled you away


My hips were meant for your lips
Your words were the holy water I sipped
My scars are there because of you
So I guess you won't be kissing them anytime soon


We were both scarred and reeling from the fall
But then you went and ended it all
“I’m good for you but you’re not good for me”
All the lies and the secrets- why couldn’t I see?

We met in the rain, we were both in pain,
and I said 'I think you're saving me',
you said 'I can set you free'

My hips were meant for your lips
Your words were the holy water I sipped
My scars are there because of you
So I guess you won't be kissing them anytime soon


I’m dancing around the words I should be saying
I’m holding in the breaths I should be taking
Why can’t you wake up?
Why can’t you see?
Just what you’re doing to me?

Everything was desperation, this love was pain's creation,
so we should have known that it would hurt
because in the fire of everything bad, we met and I pretended you were my safety net
we both got burned, I should have learned
not to trust anyone with such a pathetic lust

Because my hips were meant for your lips
Your words were the holy water I sipped
My scars are there because of you
So I guess you won't be kissing them anytime soon
No, you won't be kissing them anytime soon.

Some nights I can't close my eyes without
seeing everything I feared,
feeling every horrible thing
(every horrible thing, every horrible thing ever)
and I just stare at the ceiling, imagining stars
where our names were written

we carved our names into a tree as well as the stars
we tried to be like the movies, and in a way,
it was even better than the movies
but I can still remember the feel of your lips against
mine as I stare up at that ceiling and wish
I could feel the way your body moves again,
just one more time to say goodbye
to the way you felt.

Some nights I look up at the real stars,
where my dreams lay,
and on the heels of my bare feet (the grass is cool, and keeps my raging fever from
growing to the size of the sky)
and I wonder if you're somewhere
looking up at them too,
and if the moonlight is kissing your lips as I once did
but I do not miss you, because after a while,
the strength drained out of us, and we were only met
at the lips, and never eye to eye

when I first met you, I first noticed your eyes.
that's why it was so hard when we never met eye to eye anymore
your eyes shone out in the darkness I walked in
and I knew that I had to have you near me.
you must've thought the same thing because you never
let go of me until we both realized that it was over,
that we would be stuck looking up at the sky
with a telescope of feelings,
wanting the way our eyes first met back.

but it wouldn't happen,
so I've chosen to pretend that,
like our love,
the stars have burned out.
its over.

i am sorry-

because my butterflies flew away

because i wilted

and no amount of care could bring me back,

away from my silver sliver.

I still dream of you sometimes,
the same way I did before,
you choking me
and I turning
the color blue.
I dream it in 3rd person,
that hasn't changed at all either.
The cheap mattress,
dusty floor tiles,
and the belt grasped
tightly in your slightly small
hands, coiling it like a boa,
the fan spinning,
my head spinning,
all things spinning,
you strangling me, wickedly
smiling, laughing, you on me,
then I wake up,
no one is there,
but I'm still hard.

Distance has a particular way of hurting:
It begins slowly, and is self-contained.
Because our mothers would often speak about Love,
and how everything falls helpless in Love,
Distance becomes a housebroken dog.
It is powerless, and whilst I love, I am powerful.
On Sunday, our fathers would teach us to put our faith in things unseen,
and so we grow confident and complacent.
Just when you think you’ve understood it,
It sinks its teeth in hard and deep.

An idealist tries to make it out light and easy
They will often write poems about finding
ideal love in the real world.
But I will write about knowing
real love misplaced in an ideal world.
It’s a world where comfort could come in binary files
filled with digital empathy and memories.
Where typed words and numbers that form
black and white promises could replace
the real and organic voice of reassurance.
Where wires between my webcams and your headsets
could entangle themselves in ways our fingers
used to be intertwined.
Where waiting for an email meant as much as
waiting for you to return home to me.
Where the strategic positioning of your punctuation marks
could transform these passive symbols
into active symbols of love and concern:

A comma, like a shared pause for when our eyes meet
Exclamation marks for when we wave to each other from across the street,
or as a passionate gesture from underneath these sheets.
A question mark for when you’re sick and I am by your bed
Worried, because you wouldn’t eat.
A semicolon for when we argue,
and a full stop for when we finally give in.
A parenthesis for containing moments of vulnerability
that only seem to leak out late at night.

You won’t know it but,
I dream mostly of an online conversation,
filled with time stamps that affirm your presence.
If I’m lucky, I will find an ellipsis
Small creatures of continuity with
heads heavy with hesitation.
…
And - if I’m really lucky,
I’d undo those black buttons of suspense
and see you once more.