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hmmmmmmmm

how do i put into words
how much i ******* love you?

gentle smiles
holding open the door
so many band shirts
craving his graphing calculator
extremely complicated physics
low smooth singing voice
curly hair i just want to touch
kind observant eyes
noticing everything (even the things i always try to hide)
asking me if i'm okay (he always knows when i lie)
insisting i'm pretty (especially when i'm down on myself)

(apparently, my romanticism is a turn off)
(i'd stop being a romantic for you)
(i'd do anything for you)
(if i could kiss you)

the problem is that i only felt like myself when i was with you

a tricky subject considering
you're dead and gone

and my true self has been burned along with your broken body

i have to try to write
shorter and shorter pieces

one word,
maybe two,
no more than three

short, sweet,
and to the point

they tell me i gotta work on brevity

yet i am too much in love
with the fluff and feel
of words on my tongue

i just can't stop

There’s this fatal flaw
I never want to let go
Years and years go by

i've never understood why people seem to loathe poetry so terribly

in my classes,
both in high school and in college,
whenever we read a poem,
it was like the entire room
drooped with boredom
and all of my peers
seemed to heave a collective sigh,
all their happiness leaving in one, singular, breath

yet,
i, with brightened eyes and lips quick to read
no, not to read,
to gush
gorgeous lines of carefully written art

i blossomed like a sunflower in the morning rays,
eager to consume line after line,
stanza after stanza,
couplets, quartets, prose

for poetry is the beauty of the ages
contained in a single page of slanted text

there is nothing more beautiful than
"shall i compare thee to a summer's day?"

and there is nothing more profound than
"all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream"

is there nothing simpler than
"two roads diverged in a yellow wood"?

and is there nothing more inspiring than
"still, like dust, i'll rise"?

funnily,
we seek in art what simple words cannot express,

we seek feelings that only the brushstrokes of picasso,
the chiseling of michelangelo,
and the notes of mozart can give us

we claim that language is limited
and that our true feelings cannot be defined
by our mere set of human terms

yet,
poetry creates words

poetry creates feeling

poets are the true artists because we can express feelings that you never could through the language you believe is so limited

poets spin words into carefully woven tapestries of emotion and history

poets will live on millions and millions of years forward

each and every time a student is forced to read
"the road not taken"
"the raven"
"caged bird"
"paul revere's ride"
"the tyger"

they extend poets' lives by millennia

humans have forever searched for the secret to immortality
and in their quest they have ignored the simplest cure of all,

the only way to remain alive is to be remembered

and the only way to be remembered is to be a poet

i love you so much it hurts sometimes

scratch that,
it hurts most of the time

i think about how much i deeply love you,
how much i love to just be in your presence
how every moment with you is the happiest of my life
and every moment spent without you
could have been vastly improved by your presence

i think about our your cute jokes,
how you always make fun of me
but in the sweetest way possible

and you give me that smile that says
"i'm insulting you but neither you nor i care about it
because we're too close for you to be bothered
and you know i'd never want to hurt you"

that secret smile

that secret laugh
when you make when you know
you've taken a joke
just a little bit
too far

but you know i'll never care
because any word out of your mouth
is unoffensive to me

i think about the nicknames you give me
the sound and lilt of your voice
when you pick up the phone

"hey, chief,"
you say softly,
"what's up?"

i think about
the lazy, lazy circles
you talk around me

when we're alone,
conversation inevitably turns to
deep, never-before-said-aloud confessions

how odd
that the conversation inevitably turns to
love

your first love,
my first love

of course,
i never give specifics

you can never know that
my heart throbbing, amazing, out-of-my-league
first love
is, simply,
you

i think about how handsome you are

your crazy unique bright blonde hair
so curly swirly hypnotizing perfection

your bright bright blue eyes
atlantic ocean blue
a twisting, turning, turbulent stormy blue

your mischief
it's expressed in every area of your body
in every motion you make
like how,
when you sit down,
you're always leaning back in your chair
poised to fall

yet never,
as long as i've known you,
have you ever
touched the ground

i think about your intelligence,
you're the only person who can talk to me
about politics,
science,
literature,
or any other topic
in an enriching way

you're so much smarter than me
and i adore every second of it

your articulation,
the way you turn thoughts
into beautiful webs of words,
it's mesmerizing

i think i love you so much
that i overlook
all of your flaws

like how you are supremely superficial
like how you treat girls
as if they exist
for your viewing pleasure

i have this feeling like
our personalities are the most compatible
in this entire universe

but you'll never even see me
in a romantic way
because i'm not pretty
not in your eyes
not even close to it

we'll be talking about a girl
a fairly pretty girl
and you'll say she's ugly

and i'll just think
if she's ugly to you,
do i ever want to know what you think about me?

i feel bad about myself,
partly,
because of you

because i try to see myself
through your critical gaze
and all i see is a chubby, acne-ridden,
ugly girl

the worst part is that
you'll never, ever love me back
the way i love you

and this is,
in part,
because of how i look

you'll never see me as
****
attractive
hot

i'll never even appear to be
"girlfriend material"
because i'm not pretty to you

i'm friend material
sister material, even

and that's why it hurts so much to love you

it hurts my heart
and there's nothing i can do about it
because you are my best friend
and i see you every single day

and every single day i'm reminded both
of how i can never, ever have you
and how much i really, really want you

i find it funny
that none of you will remember me
as more than a girl
who writes ****** poetry
to people who never answer back

you once told me
that first loves don't really go away

you were talking about your ex
an amazing girl, from what you've told me

first love doesn't just disappear
it fades and it lingers,
but it doesn't leave,
you said

you were talking about her
but i was thinking about you

i have this theory
that all my poems
will remain hopelessly unfinished
until i am with you

why is it doctors
who must only swear
to do no harm

it seems to me
that we should all
live like doctors

working to heal hearts
instead of savagely breaking them

working to save people
instead of sending them
into a never ending spiral of depression

working to do as little harm as possible


maybe if you lived like a doctor
we would be together right now

rain, rain
go away

and as you go,
will you wash away
all my insecurities too?

so he broke up with me today

messaged me,
in the ******* chat feature of snapchat

and said

"hey were done"

never mind that atrocious grammar,
or the fact that he couldn't even say it to my face,

but he didn't have the common decency
to say why he came to the decision

or even to put the littlest bit of emotion into it

i know this isn't even close to poetry guys
trust me, it was never poetry with us two

i get so lonely sometimes
like i’m the only person alive
in this ******* hellish universe

maybe that’s why i am
so ******* obsessed with love

i crave intimacy,
i crave not being alone
i crave being bigger than myself

i crave the feeling of being two halves to one soul

i crave gorgeous people
writing gorgeous love poems
just for me

i crave being the center of someone’s universe
and gaining a whole new center for myself

maybe i just need a friend right now
maybe i don’t need to fall in love
like i do every other day of the week

i just want to feel like
i’m not talking to a blank screen
every time i write