Count to three with me and
break free. Open the cage
and run away with me.

Flap your wings and fly up
high in God's skies. Hop from
branch to branch and sing a
secret melody. A melody that
no one knows but you and I.

We'll move from tree to tree.
And enjoy every sunset as we
cuddle side by side in the
middle of a thousand
leaves.

Twist and twirl with me as
the morning dew drops fall
on rose petals looking like
shiny gem stones and
pearls.

I think it's time we count to
three and give it a last try.
We might get lucky and
break free.

Trust me we'll be looking back
at that day as we laugh and
sigh without asking the
question of why.

So flap those wings cause
it's our time tonight to fly
where ever the winds carry
our bodies gently upon
landscapes and grey
starless skies* ~

Well u had asked me out
But is it true
Yo want to be with me
Or is it just another one of your games
To show off a girl you have
I want you to want me your's
Not just so you can post about me

Dressed in black smoke.
Burning in flames.

Words were trapped in my
throat , making me not able
to cry or sigh.

My colours faded away into
the black and grey. I was
left alone with nothing to
say while I was drenched
in my own misery and
pain.

The room was getting dark.
My life was falling apart. My
heart was torn to shards.
Poison filled up my veins.

The ventricles of my heart
tangled up. But you, you
showed up and untangled
every knot.

And that was how we fell
in love.That was how I was
rescued and saved* ~

Trapped in a metaphor.

Sitting on my
bedroom floor.

Feeling the walls closing
in on me.

Crying for someone to
come and save me.

Drowning in an ocean
of tears.

While the words crawl out
my throat and imprint on
my skin.

They somehow seemed
to have spelled out your
name once again* ~

A nerd who loves
numbers and letters.
A nerd who wears geeky
glasses and attends all
her classes. A nerd who
bathes in literature every
night and can speak to him
in the language of poetry.
He fell in love with a nerd
like me* ~

Every single time we go to your car to light up a cap or a bowl
that never leaves us with nothing, we can feel something, even if it’s just the stinging in our fingertips as we draw ships and cats
on the windows, convinced we could make masterpieces
if we really wanted to. When we finally gather enough ambition to move inside, I sit on a couch somewhere and think about how my life
has led to a moment like this and I question every insecurity, every decision, and every conviction, but I just can’t get over how nice
it would be to taste cake or cream cheese bagels right now
and eventually we end up watching the same shows with the same people who make the same mistakes every single episode and it really does remind me of that video you showed
me with the disturbing sitcom theme song that never ended,
and that’s what this night is all about.

Disregard my silent replies, I’m listening,
I just keep staring in the mirror and wondering if lacquered eyes
and lazy expressions are what you think looks good
on me because whenever you look at me, I try to focus on your face before you kiss over my ribs and I take my socks off
because there’s safety in socks and maybe that’s why we feel
such a devastation when they can’t be found. I’ve lost mine in your
room and I think maybe that stands for something, but here’s the thing:
I just don’t understand why everything you do makes me so nervous.

I hang up after speaking to a high school friend,
the idea of change and the past few years against the present’s
current creates an overcast in my head, like the nights
I sit outside, searching for the moon.
I’ve found liberty lingers in the harsh smell
of lent cigarettes. It collects in a shot glass, shines
in the eyes of my best friend as 2 AM ticks out
the blame she harbors and my ongoing inadequacies

stemming from the need to please teachers
and parents, my peers, earning me the gentle title
of Class Peach, which held expectations like
amiability and persisting kindness too high
for me to knock off the shelf of reputation.
Academics pushed me, but books and poetry allowed
me to look through the keyhole, a world
where humanity rips off restraints to help
each other become free, encouraging the trip
along white and yellow lines leading to different places.

There's something beautiful
About the broken pieces.
Seeing you standing there
Looking like shattered glass.
You were so bright
And you were so, so dangerous.
And when I saw you,
It was okay to not be alright.

You could have had me,
But you didn't want me.
And now I'm sitting here,
And I can't stop thinking,
That maybe,
Just maybe,
We were better off broken.