Be my lover.
I will hold your hand and run through the rain.
I will kiss you under a midnight sky, overcast with stars.
I will hog the radio and scream-sing at the top of my lungs.
I will drink far too much coffee and read never enough poetry

Be my lover.
You will smile at me and call me beautiful.
You will pick me up for late night coffee and ice cream runs.
You will make love to me and show me what it is to fall.
You will have a past and a present and a future and it will be beautiful.

Let's be lovers.
We will kiss and cuddle and love.
We will fight and scream and curse.
We will live and ride this crazy life out until our infinity ends
We will be a miracle, a crazy, insane, happy, miracle.

The worst part about
living with my
sister and her
boyfriend is that
they are a
pair.
They go to cuddle and I'm here,
pinteresting John Green and writing
poetry. Trying to
convince myself that
this is just as
good. This is equal to cuddling with a lover.
But both my
brain and heart
are too smart for that
****.

Arms tight,
grabbing fistfuls of t-shirt,
your mascara wet on his shoulder.
This is the hug you give
when something is falling apart.

This is the hug you give your ex boyfriend
when you promise you will still be there for him,
this is the hug you give him
when he wishes to stop existing,
this is the hug you give him
when you tell him you love him,
this is the hug you give him
when he doesn't believe you,

these embraces will break your heart,
they will make your ribs curl in on themselves,
they are apologies for the harm you have caused,
they are guilt for the scars you have left,
they are acknowledging that
terrible things happen to beautiful people,
they are the realization that
you are not a beautiful person,
you are a terrible thing.

Nothing has ever broken my heart more
than feeling yours beating
*and knowing you wanted it to stop.

You have cuts on your arm
that you name after people
and you talk about them
like accidents.

I got this one when she left,
this one when she told me she didn't trust me,
this one when she wasn't there,

as if they were put there by the event,
by some other force you could not control,
but let me remind you,
it is called self harm for a reason.

The people you named them after
did not hold the blade,
these cuts on your arm are not battle wounds,
you are not fighting anyone
but yourself.
Stop blaming them.
Stop blaming the people who love you,
no one is out to get you
but yourself.
All your pain is self inflicted.
Let me say that again.
All your pain is self inflicted.

You are holding a gun to your head,
screaming at me with tears running down your face,
why are you doing this to me?

Put down the gun.

Look in a mirror.

**All your pain is self inflicted.

the idea of someone
being in love with me
is laughable