i want to write about him.
to capture his essence between pages,
like a flower plucked and left to dry.

the way his pink lips bowed,
the soft curve of his neck,
the muscled ***** of his shoulders,
the valley of his lower back.

i want to preserve his image,
his brown hair,
smooth, tan skin,
and shining eyes.

i want to press the feather-light caresses,
hold them between the paper pages
of some long forgotten book.
i want to remember every second,
every tiny instant,
of our love.

do you know what it's like?

to take a blade to your hips
and let denial fall willingly off your lips?

do you know what it's like?

to be broken before you had the chance to bend
and to desperately search for a way to make things end?

do you know what it's like?

to lie awake at night and cry
and have nothing get better despite how hard you try?

do you know what it's like?

to feel battered, weak, and small,
and have every thought turn in on itself like a mirrored hall?

do you know what it's like?
i hope you don't.

broken girl, pick yourself up.
wipe those tears off your chin,
and spit into the dust.

dig in your heels,
give ‘em that glare
you know works so well.

plant your feet,
refuse to move for anyone in your way.
you aren’t to be messed with.

broken girl, show ‘em what you’re made of-
blood, sweat, and tears,
real and solid.

you’re gonna be here for centuries
with an attitude like that,
so gear up, girl, get going.

you ain’t so broken now,
bared teeth and clenched fists,
you’re swinging for those who hurt you.

don’t raise a hand to the helpless, girl,
extend one instead,
you were there once.

lift yourself up high,
but don’t forget your roots,
you’ve got more power than you think.

did i ever tell you
about the way your hair
shines in the sun?

did i ever tell you
about the way your eyes
sparkle with mischief?

i don’t believe i have.

allow me to,
grant me this one favor,
my only request from you.

let me tell you about
the way you smile,
nothing could make me happier.

let me tell you about
the decadence of your voice,
nothing could bring me more joy.

let me tell you about
your passion for what you love,
nothing could be more exciting.

have you had your fill?

eaten and drank enough words
that you might sink
to the bottom of a river and settle there?

have you enjoyed yourself yet?

have you found happiness?

have you felt contentedness in the warmth of your chest?

stay at the bottom of the river,
lover,
where your hair is a dull gleam,
your eyes glassy and vacant.

stay sunken and stuffed,
your smile vacuous,
your words unspoken,
your passion swallowed down.

are you worried yet?

can you still move?
still breathe?

are you certain of yourself,
of your surroundings?

where are you?

are you still alive, even?

is your heartbeat strong as it was moments ago?

this is no love poem,
this is a ****** poem.

this is where i drown you,
fill your lungs with your arrogance
the same way i filled your ego with words.

this is where i cross the line,
from love to hate,
fire to ice.

i am your lover,
am i?

the darkened hallway in which i sit
is hardly a place for you.

the light lives in the cracks under a door,
and in the faded flicker of a burnt out bulb.
the light here is not enough for you,
you would wither slowly.

the smiles in this hallway are cracked,
broken grins stretching too wide.
these mouths would swallow you whole,
eat your joy and take it for their own.

the mirrors will distort your reflection,
and you will see your face peering back at you,
murmuring your worst fears, darkest desires
calling you to step into the glass.

this darkened hallway in which i sit
is hardly a place for you.