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do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
I knew you would forget, just as soon as the sun would rise,
But your words, cliché and hollow, came as no surprise.
I asked but one small favor, at both break and close of day,
Just to hear you say hello, but now, hope's bled away.
Can you recall when we met in a support group?
You were with Isaac who was insanely in love with Monica and her *****
You took me to your home which you gave me a basement tour
I thought to myself we were going to be best friends or maybe evens more

I gave you my ideal and ravishing book
remember how you couldn't stop talking and I knew you were hooked
You and I had our ''Okay'' which became our own flirtatious ''always'' forever
I just got butterflies and knew that some how we would always be together

Can you recall when you said you were cancer free?
You took the tests and god your test results lit up the heavens tree
You are just amazing calling me Hazel Grace
which always just made me laugh and put a smile on my face

The day came of your funeral
everything was just certainly unreal

But then I remembered: That's the thing about pain it demands to be felt
#The Fault In Our Stars
 Dec 2014 Bipolar Hypocrite
r
19
 Dec 2014 Bipolar Hypocrite
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.
She paused from our kiss
Took a breath.
And I opened my eyes.
I saw her,
Taking it all in as she held my face
She quivered.
I smiled,
That's when I knew
She was enough.
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