the harsh reality of life is that everything moves on
and for things to move on, first other things have to end

people leave;
they leave you and they leave places and they leave things behind
and sometimes it's messy, and you'll cry and hug your pillow at night
because it's the only thing that has stayed
and people may leave places, and maybe you'll be a person leaving a place
but you'll be finding a new one

everyone finds their way, and an end is just a new beginning
because that is the true meaning of moving on

and maybe you'll look around your new house in a new city or even state or country
and you'll find something; a letter maybe, from a person who left
or a bracelet, or a picture- anything that holds a memory
and you'll remember them, and it won't be because they left
it will be because they moved on, and luckily they left you with a piece of them
because we are all made up of fragments of other people and places and things
and no matter how hard we try to piece them all together quickly and with shaking hands,
we can't

and sometimes the puzzles that are our souls will be messy,
and you'll cry and you'll hug a new person
that hasn't left yet because you're missing pieces you think you'll never find

but one day you'll complete the puzzle
and it won't be the end
it will be moving on

there comes a time in your life when you will stop pretending
you will stop seeing the world as a glass vase holding your favorite flower
you will smash the vase, and let the flower out
and you know it will die because now it's out of it's cage
but it would have died either way because you forgot to water it in the first place
you were too busy admiring the caged thing to realize that it has other needs

us humans, we love to lock things up, you see
we lock up animals, so we can stare at them in seclusion
we lock up humans, for almost exactly the same reason
we lock up our feelings, our dreams
and we throw away the key

but maybe one day you will stop pretending
you will stop pretending that you're happy in that glass vase
and maybe you will smash it
because you see; flowers are much more beautiful in the ground.

One day I will look in the mirror and find a stranger

There are studs of silver all over my room from when I was younger
and all I wanted to do was shove unknown metals through my skin
and call it rebellion.

There are black nailpolish bottles, and scissors for cutting my own hair
and face paint for when I wanted nothing else but to look like Bowie
I am not a normal teenage girl, and I think I guess I'm an adult now.

I kissed boys on the mouth when I was wishing they'd kiss my soul
I tried to drown myself in the bathtub until I figured out that I couldn't breathe-
and that I wanted to.

There is nothing poetic about the way that I want so badly on Saturday nights
to cut into my own skin with whatever sharp object I can find
There is nothing poetic about how I haven't left the house in three months except
to go buy hair dye so I don't have to recognize myself anymore.

I don't find poetry in the stars anymore because they remind me too much of you.

I looked in the mirror today and found a stranger
and nothing about this is poetic.

"Stay the hell away from here!" he screamed at you
He was pointing to his chest
You asked him if he meant his lungs and he shook his head
He meant his heart

He's a poem you can never end
The lines flow nicely in the beginning and the middle
But once you get to the bottom of your page, you reread the last line
And curse yourself for typing it on a typewriter because there is
no turning back

He's a storm you watch from the window but never go out and stand in
The puddles beckon you to stomp in them but You shake your head this time,
You're not twelve anymore
You don't play in the rain

He's your worst nightmare incarnated
He's a fever dream, the worst kind
He's the best thing to ever happen to you
But it scares you so much you paint it dark blue and call it sinister

"Stay away from here" you finally say back
You've got ******* aimed at your temple like a gun
He asked you if you meant your mind
You meant your heart

I am trying to write something meaningful but all I can think of are your lips
and how, if given the chance, I would gladly die by them.

I am trying not to love you because I know it makes you nervous.

I am trying to stay alive but what do you do when the people you're living for
would be better off without you?

And if you're not living for yourself, then for what? For who?

Love has killed me just as it has killed my mother;
Slowly, selfishly and forever.

I inhaled your pain and didn't exhale and
I think that is what has killed me.

I've not died by your lips,
but my own.

your lips are a sort of heaven
take that from an athiest

I used to believe in God
until he took away the one I loved most
and even though I don't believe
I hope I'm wrong
because surely someone as beautiful as you
deserves a heaven

your words are a sort of paradox
seemingly neverending, thank God
I don't know what I'd do without them

but also like a maze that I can't find my way out of
you've got my mind spinning and I wouldn't want
to find my way even if I could

and don't get me started on your eyes
because I can't help but look into them and see an hourglass
ticking down the time until you leave again and i'll be
praying to whoever will listen that I get to see them one last time
they're blue like the sky,

sky blue sky blue
I've never written words more true

everything about you screamed infinite
the type of person I could spend forever trying to figure out

sunsets and sunrises pass by like fast trains, and my minds still reeling
a photographic memory is a blessing and a curse but right now its a gift
i can remember every word spoken, every laugh and smile
and i play it back like a movie

the kind of spirit that makes you forget the hurt
the universe cries but you remind me that it laughs too

coexistence of bodies and minds, sweet and surreal
worlds colliding at a rapid pace, they collide
they become one

everything about you screamed infinite
everything about me screamed indefinite
indecisiveness and paranoia floods my veins
love and knowing floods yours

a scale sits between the palms of our hands
and is level, for we are balanced

I lift my pen and let my hand guide my mind
my fingers already know you and they haven’t felt you
yet my page screams your name wholeheartedly

vast space was left empty in the corners of my brain
but they’re filled now, even in the dustiest of places

everything about you screamed infinite