You used to trace your finger
up my spine.
Across my jawbone.

Dancing across my lips,
lightly down my cheeks.

You would trace the line of my collarbone
and into the hollow at the base of my neck.

You would lay your head
against my chest.
Listen to my heartbeat.

Now, you walk into the room
and I can't even look
into the eyes I once got lost in.

I was so full of love and trust.
But you walk into a room now
And all I feel

Is a winter's chill
so cold
that I will never warm from it.

Our bed
One we'll
Share in the future
Where I rest my eyes
And you occasionally do too
Where the stains
Of our passion
Appear
Where our child
Shall be made
The bed they'll
Crawl into after having
A nightmare
The bed we grow older in
Each night trusting it
To be gentle
With our bodies
That are growing frail
Our bed
Where we'll leave this world
Our bed where many
Laughs
And moans
And secrets will be told
Our bed
The one to carry us through
Our journey of life.

Someone I once loved
Ran his finger across my chest and traced
The outline of my moles and said
"They look like an anchor! When you connect the dots, they are the shape
Of an anchor! You are an anchor. It all makes sense now.
You are going to be okay."

At the time it was like some big epiphany for him,
Like he was telling me something about myself
That I never knew when really, I always knew
It was just
Something I didn't want
To admit. It is something
I have been running away from for a long time now, thinking
I could be an anchor for someone else
Because then THEY could be my problem, my project,
My ocean
So then that way I could leave myself, fallen by the wayside
To wither away, slowly, subtly,
Secretly disappearing.

I am attracted to people who are made of glass,
People who shatter easily, who shatter willingly,
Who are reckless and brilliant, beautiful and dangerous
People who I unconsciously think
I can save.

I can only save myself.
I can only be my own anchor.

I am nowhere near strong enough
To be with someone again
I am so terribly fragile, I break my own heart
So easily. Too willingly.
All I want is to keep realizing things like this,
To admit my mistakes and learn from them, not
Repeat them.
To hold on to the people who keep me on the ground,
The people who actually love me, who don't put me on
Some pedestal where I am liable
To float away.

Because if I'm not careful and let myself
Float away again,
I
may
never
come
back.

I’ve been in love  
With more things than I care to count.  
I fell for the sky the moment I realized the city hides it’s stars.  
I fell for that picture, because it was easy to love a moment.  
I fell for iced tea, because it refreshed me.  
I’ve never tried to hide things about myself.  
Never thought it better to keep things secret.  
I kept one.  
It was something I’d refused to feel.  
Everything I never wanted.  
To ashamed to want.  
It was a person.  
It was a boy.  
I think I fell in love  
But whose to say what it actually was.
I mean for God’s sake.
I fell for tea, just because it kept me cool.  
I’ve fallen for wind, and hands, and rings, and poems, and walls.
I’ve fallen for everything, because I’d always wanted to feel.  
Never needed to heal something that was broken.  
Because I never broke.  
I avoided falling for humans, because being rejected.  
It wasn’t an option for me.  
Putting up a front when it came to others, was easy.  
Everything else was easy.
Loving was easy, when they couldn’t love back.  
The first time I fell in love. Wasn’t the first time I loved.  
The first time I fell in love, was the first time I broke  
I think people assume that I hold on to everything.  
Because I remember alot.  
I think people assume I’m a *****.  
Because I probably am.  
I'd had a heart accustomed to feeling remorse for friends, never myself.  
A heart used to feeling for others, not feeling what others felt.
I never cried. Never shed a tear.  
Maybe I should have, because maybe it would have been all I needed.  
Something small broke me.
But my body never cracked. Just my heart.  
I grew small, because I was angry.  
I was capable of being large, because I loved to love.  
Things.  
Not always people.
I was forgiven.  
But I don't think I was loved  
I hope you’ve fallen for something.  
Whether it be a painting, or a mirror, or a mouth.  
I hope you’ve fallen for something.  
Because falling for something  
Was always easier than falling for someone.

you deserve a novel,
but these words suffice:
you thief.

Show me a rock, I'll show you a rose
Show me a model, I'll show you a small town girl
She has a beautiful mind
Seeing the face value of the color in your eyes
I want to know you deeper than you know yourself
Let my body be your canvas
Carve your secrets into me with an ink-less fountain pen, filled with your fiery soul
For I am the mighty oak
My bark will scar over
Your secrets safe for the keeping

we never write as much when we are in love
and if we do write as much, we never write the same way
we get so much more boring
we could write a sad poem every day
and it would be much more interesting than an
everything-is-perfect poem
happiness has very little substance
have you ever noticed that most mainstream music is
aggressively depressing?
we write when there's something missing
or when we feel cold toward the world
and want to stick it to the man with a good 'ol *******
a writer in love will only produce a masterpiece if who they love
doesn't love them back
falling in love with someone that loves you back feels like having
everything you need
and there becomes no reason to write because there is no need to write
most people feel misunderstood when they're sad
and people only want to soak themselves in art if it makes them feel
understood
so, art has got to be sad too, hasn't it?