I really should stay away from boys like you.

Who take me to their rooms and don't go anywhere near the bed, just put their arm around me and tell me about themselves. Who touch my cheek and look at me for a moment when they talk about things they love.

The beautiful, innocent ones with stars in their eyes. Who introduce me to their parents and hold my hand and hold me and don't try anything in the dark.

Boys who I really, really don't deserve, who eventually see that for themselves and leave, taking a piece of my heart with them.

Boys like you, honey.

there's a lot of holes in my life
for example

my waist takes as little space as possible;
a curve is formed in each side
in order to be fitted by
somebody's hands

and i would like them to be your hands

between every bone of my spine
there's a little pause pretending to shape
a path long enough to be toured by
somebody's fingers

and i would like them to be your fingers

when i stretch my neck i find
angles in my collarbones
a piece of architecture to be traced by
somebody's mouth

and i would like it to be your mouth

but your hands hold the curves of other waist
and your fingers wander other road
and your mouth traces the lines of other architecture

and i have all of these holes

and there's a hole in my bed
and i would like to have two

mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?

mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.

I like you more than I should
And that little more that I do
Is hurting a little bit too

your fingers dig into my flesh and
peel back my skin
and expose me to the open air and it stings
and i know i need to forget you
but it hurts to heal.

i don't know whats more painful -
the feeling in my stomach that reminds me of rain pounding on the top of a car or the
way the road looks when the only light that is shining comes from this guilty look in my eyes
i feel sorry even though i ******* know i shouldn't
i should hang these thoughts like prayer flags across all the doorways in my body
i should paint my insides wall by wall,
the prettiest color you've ever seen
so that i can call this place where i've been living for so long
'home'