I keep looking for perfect
in everything that isn't you.

If I could rest every one of his burdens on my shoulders
I'd do it.
They're scarred and battered and broken
( just like him ),
but I am sure he would still call them beautiful-
or, I hope he does, at least,
so I can call him out on his hypocrisy.

Let it be known;
I breathe, not to be fixed by you,
but to find a way to help
put you back together
and I am not scared of your
wolves nor
your roar.

I'll be patiently awaiting this moment,
with my amour shed and my hammer steady,
and I swear I'll do it-
- gladly.

Am I selfish for wishing you
would learn to tether yourself to me instead?

If waves were miles and each break an hour,
we could pretend to know math and call it
science, based on sands that have pulled us closer
and this collision of horizon I childishly wish
would be you and I.


I promise to keep you together
much better than she ever did--

- To not be broken about it,
and to teach you that making someone
love you
isn't your "fault".

I am not sorry for wanting you;
I am sorry for being quiet about it.

Acoustic variables numb my skin as I
attempt to drown my thoughts of
guilt- from having to hurt you to
make me better.

I'm just trying to
get better.