How I wished that you exist
Man here are no match for you
Thanks for tv and comic books
For making me
Hope and expect after all
They are only flash and blood
Plus their imperfections
So do I settal for less than you

i like to hear the choirs singing in the snow
singing christmas carols ones that we all know
carrying there lanterns shining oh so bright
singing loud and clear on a christmas night

singing all together each one all in tune
bringing joy to christmas as they begin croon
i like to hear the choirs singing in the snow
it makes me feel so happy and gives my heart a glow

i'll be 23 at a liquor store on my way to a party
the boy who i'm with will think my name is sorry
maybe the cuts will be scars by then
but that doesn't mean i'll be better
i still won't know how to be sober
i'll be in a stranger's bathroom
crying my eyes out,
they'll think it's just the shrooms
but it'll be you, it'll always
be you
i'll talk about the boy who didn't love me back
even with *** and alcohol in the equation.
maybe i'll be okay then,
but it'll never hurt less

Why open up
When they give you reasons to close
Why give them love
If hate is what they show
Guard yourself
As I guard me
If I let them creep in
They'll only harm me

So don't knock down walls
I'll just have to rebuild
Don't call me your sister
It the relationship isn't real
Don't dare tell me to talk to you
If you don't like how I feel

I refuse to tell you
What you want to hear
My words are now truth
I don't care how you feel

Breannah Cross

I can't cry.
I don't even remember what it feels like to cry.
I miss the feeling of tears running down my face and on to my pillow creating a pool of sadness.

I let myself fall
I let myself be liked
I let the birds chirp their song of freedom
I let my book drop to the floor
I let the window be my soldier
I let flowers tickle the bees
I let myself stand up
I let the bathtub flood my apartment
I let you think I was a tooth fairy
I let coffee drip down your face into your mouth
I let the ocean turn black
I let the air vessel float with its mighty wings
I let losing be the new winning
I let good poems die for the sake of narwhals
I let her into my kitchen
I let her eat the food in front of her without a spoon
I let the fork in its cave with its many twins
I let the bubbles in their bottles as I sipped from their mouth
I let the dress float through the ground level liquid
I let myself believe your truth
I let myself walk on
I let me be folly.

After Matthew Dickman's *24 Hours