I was 7 when I learned the art of touch
but that doesn’t make me ******’s sister

I was 14 when I thought I figured out *** and love
were one in the same

so tell me why everywhere you touched me
I began to turn black like a the band of a fake ring on a child’s finger

I began to turn a colour I could not wash off
with soap and water

the darker I became the more you began to
smell of rotting meat left out in the sun

you were festering and the holes in your heart
burned through to your skin

sometimes in my sleep
I still smell you waiting in the darkness

and sometimes in the shower
I still find deep marks I cannot ever seem to get rid of

Everyone in this life might mistake the look in your eyes as love
But I will never be so easily fooled again

The clock in your room is stuck on 6:46 p.m. & I think that's all the time I need to fall in love with you.

It didn't take much time for me to realize that your laugh was sweeter than every bakery in northern california , & that your teeth are whiter than my favorite sweater, & the dresses you wear could rehabilitate a ******* addict in the matter of minutes, & your favorite song is the same song that we were listening to when we decided that we're better off together than apart, & that walk that you have when you're wearing your favorite outfit could cure my severe illness for good.
It didn't take much time for me to realize that 2+2 could only add up to equal you;
that everything in the long run always added up to equal you.

Time is a funny thing when all of it is spent with you,
with your humor,
your simple sarcasm,
your addictive tickles,
your favoring voice,
your stupidly stimulating conversations,
your cold yet inviting arms,
your masterpiece of a body,
your god-like heart,
& most importantly your vivacious patience with me.

Life is all about time, trial and error, & taking chances;
& frankly
you were the best chance I ever took,
the best broken clock I could have ever spent all of my time with,
& the best error I never made.

I would scream your name
over and over
till my throat hurts
just so i can get your name off the
tip
    of
          my
                  tongue

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

you stopped
liking roses
when they
started to
grow out
of my
wrists

I’m only supposed to live until 27
27
I am already 21
That means I have 6 years left
6 years feels like so many more lifetimes
Only 23% survive
Am i strong enough to be in the 23%?
I don’t think i am
Nothing is helping
I tell people the meds help
But i’m lying to them just as much as myself
This is a deadly disease
It destroys your mind and your body