I have poems inside of me that my lips can't form into words,
that my keys can't handle,
that paper would burn.
I have thoughts inside of me that my heart can't hold,
that my fingers can't grasp,
that sentences can't form.
I have pain inside of me that my body doesn't feel,
that my skin can't touch,
that scarves can't cover.

"Not all words can teach us to heal."
                        -8 word story

I was thinking about the day I met you today. I smiled and laughed to myself a little remembering your yellow and purple hoodie. Remembering the fact that you're the only girl I saw who could ever pull off pink eye shadow that well. I remember looking at you, not believing how green your eyes were. I remember the first thing you said to me it was "You should say yes." Thinking back on it to how we are now, I never would've guessed you to be such a huge part of my life. I kept getting your scent today, it happened five or six times. It wasn't anyone wearing your perfume. I just caught it. I felt tiny knives in my heart, it made me nostalgic.

I keep aware of the dry crusted cup covering me, trapping me and my thirsty dreams, sealed, and the glass is the kind not clear not sure, what is on the other side. My palms fit flatly against the surface and my ear presses against the silence, searching for a tone deeper than my own shy scrawny voice. Because I talk in memories and in daydreams and my words are so muffled while passing by those purposely planned for now junkies. They toss their names into the air too urgently and I mistaken their desperate greetings for a sharp goodbye. Inside this cup I can see perfectly their whole lives ironically strict and guided. Their critical hard hearts that carefully ration its beats each day at a time, scared of losing their spontaneity; and I feel a certain kind of sarcastic love for those constant people that stumble and scatter their hopes and desires, spread thinly, threaded loosely. Their cups are cold and wet and they are jet black satisfied. My fingers curl into tight fists, white knuckles, knocking on the china glass, china cup. I only wish it would crack and collapse, puncture a hole to peer in through. Tiny cuts skim across my hands, the skin is breaking and the cup with its taunting fits of laughter, covets me completely. Bang bam deep boom, tap tap, crack, just crack, a small crack, to compensate for my suffocating reality.

and you make time
for the things that you want to do
you make time for the people
you care about
even on your busiest of days
if you cared
you would make time
but my time with you
has run out
there is no longer
any time for me
in your day

The innocence of a sunrise,
a dance in the middle of the street,
putting on pjs and getting some early morning fries,
a simple love, a love thats new,
watching the sunrise, and staring at the sky while swinging and tasting the blue,
hands getting sweaty,
and nights are too long,
there is no such thing as a sad song,
and if there is, its to remind you what you have left behind,
clouded mind,
full of future times
that always seem so golden
while the past seems to fade away,
a butterfly in the tummy,
its forcing its way through,
a simple love, a love that's new.

It's long past,
and the love wasnt the last,
it was cute and fun,
that made me like everything a little bit better and brighter, including the sun,
it was easy and made sense,
but now we just look over the fence,
at other loves that have made things work,
we may grab hands and say were certain,
but as we around us begins to fall the curtain,
separating our yards,
throwing into the air all 52 cards,
grabbing and screaming at the air,
I do not dare, try and break the steel curtain,
and through the holes I can see her smile,
who knew it would be here and gone so fast,
looking back on the past,
it was a love that couldnt last.

Now every time I see,
lovers saying "I'll never leave",
I get a butterfly forced in my tummy,
it pulls oot its money,
and buys a beer,
flapping around drunk and insecure,
making me stumble and run,
and listen as the song is sung,
making the new songs sound blue,
I miss that simple love,
a love that's new.

Drunk on nostalgia,
and longing for the past,
looking at who is still my friend,
and the ones gone too fast,
I miss them all,
but I dont want any of them here,
but then again my courage out weighs my fear,
and I see it all so beautifully clear,
what I would do to hear that smile,
or see that laugh,
feel that giggle,
and dance during math,
to have stories of yet to comes,
and what dreams we have with the future suns,
friends of guys and girls,
sending my world into swirls,
and dancing with the flame,
the band maybe different, but the music is still the same,
we all just have a new name,
that is a representation of the yesterdays,
and I miss the the future and past figuring's of today's faze,
nostalgia is weighing the other half of my couch down,
as it is my friend, my smile and my frown,
I'd push them all away,
if I didnt know they were here to stay,
so I might as well enjoy the ride,
because life is just a rock skipping on a pond,
thrown by a bad hand,
I'll keep saying it along with you,
the next skip is new,
but its the skip behind that I'll think aboot in the next few