dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

I hope you never reach
The day
Where you are lost for words
Because they're tangled up in
Agony.

I hope you never reach
The point
Where your innocence of
The world is
Robbed.

I hope you choose
Your friends and
Lovers wisely
So that you never have to
Discover what it feels like
To see those who you believed
Would take a bullet for you
Dance behind the
Trigger.

The night is always darkest
before the dawn.

It’s always okay to cry.

I have someone with whom I can
share my dreams and my nightmares,
my worries, my muses and inspirations.

It always gets better in the end.
If it’s not better, it’s not the end.

What makes me happy
doesn't have to make others happy.

My opinions matter,
I am worth something,
and I deserve to be loved.

I am shelter and warmth in just a few stitches.
Day by day I await your return, so that after the
long days I can hold and lull you to sleep.
There is comfort in my consistence,
never will you return to find that I have gone.
Under these covers you will find that
despite these thin layers,
you feel most safe.

Protection from the unknown, warmth from the cold,
people may leave you, but I will stay until we’re old.
Leave your worries behind, for even just a day
to escape beneath a sea of comfort,
solitude, and peace.

Dying love in a gilded cage,
Imprisoned by my pent up rage.
You never loved me, but neither did I,
The last gift you gave was the gift of goodbye.

I still have the picture in my head
Of that Sunday morning
I found your hanging body
                                  s
                                     w
                                        i
                                      n
                                    g
                                       i
                                     n
                                   g
Ever softly, as if  to say
I'd missed my chance to save you
By only a heart beat

This nightmare can't be true
There's no way that was you
With a rope wrapped tightly around
The throat I use to kiss
Those fibers robbing the color
From my favorite lips.

-ARI