i miss the idea of you a little.
is that wrong to say?
i miss it when i could look at you and imagine what it would be like to make you laugh.
i miss memorizing your routes to class and pretending that we just happened to cross paths.
i'd smile at you without meaning to, trying to take my heart off of my sleeve.

i miss crushing on you a little.
the same way you miss breaking curfew.
but now we're all just so tired.

i just want you to kiss me and say it's okay. say it's okay that i miss my imaginary you. because i miss the real you more.

love,
grey eyes

she loved him
and he loved the way she loved him

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was lying on the floor.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was covered in red,
painted by his blades.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was covered in blue,
painted by his fists.

There was a canvas lying on the floor,
his canvas was ruined, and overused.

He needed to get a new one,
since he loved painting so much.

He always had a smile on while painting his canvases.

none of my friends care about what I want to say
about what I have to say

now I'm overthinking
I don't want to be annoying

pushed away
or do I keep pulling

I'm kinda sick
but that doesn't matter

we don't ask eachother

are we doing okay
we're just standing around

waiting to see who makes the first sound


it kinda hurts

this is the best we can be

this is so so close


ask me what time I went to sleep


I saw you awake
hearing your favorite song

you're so cold
like Neptune

yes
no

I don't trust you
wish you were a little more honest

so
hopeless

you turn everything against you
when everyone is on your side

I can't lie
I wish I didn't have to keep you high

you paint me blue
my new favorite color

everything I do is for you
it's all for you everything I do

in rotation
so slow

you're so beautiful
so cool

all I want to be
hiding in darkness

i'm from a small, yellow bedroom
yellow flowers, yellow layette
and yellow jaundiced skin  
i'm from the taste of the tea mother makes me when i'm sick
and from the sound of her singing
about how she looked and looked for the light
like the roots and the leaves floating in the boiling water
her voice a soothing sound
like bubbles in simmering tea

i'm from words written on a page-
the feeling of an old book and the smell of a new one
and i'm from hiding beneath the covers
falling in love with black letters printed on white paper
i'm from lots of illustrations and then none at all
when my mind became colorful enough to fill all the pages
i'm from "the game is afoot"
and "after all this time?"

i'm from all over the world
pieces of my heart, a jigsaw puzzle
like my family scattered all over the globe
i'm from canada, from the US, from france from lebanon from italy
i'm from a country nobody wants
but a country that desperately wants us back

i'm from messy hair, oversized sweaters
half-finished sketchbooks filled with promises
and ******* poetry lines
i'm from the echo of my own voice
against the splatter of the shower
i'm from reading in the flashes of street lamp lights
i'm from pursuing science and desiring art
drawing on the airplane's foggy windows
and wondering how it flies
with a clear head and with clouded eyes.