cure yourself by finding another boy, one who wants to hold
your fingers as you lose yourself in flaxen
starlights.
cure yourself by singing until your throat chafes
like sandpaper.
cure yourself by telling yourself that you are the moon,
and the moon is you, and she is laughing with you,
shining for you, waiting for you to glimmer.
cure yourself by finding the right people, the ones who
grasp you with splintered paws and souls
searching for whatever tastes like bubblegum.
darling, you won’t be cured right away,
take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute,
don’t forget to watch the sun
rise, to smell the coffee with shaky fingers.
cure yourself by watching the cream dance with the
shadows.
bruises are only
temporary.

You're a light headed,
lovestruck,
immature,
inexperienced,
boy crazy,
bewitched girl.
You're enchanted and infatuated with every boy the says your name,
they tug on your heart strings like a game.
You think every guy is a new lover,
when truth is,
they're just another guy.
But I do have words of advice.

Keep chasing them.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Because one day,
you grow up,
time passes,
and you're old and alone.
I don't mean to be depressing,
but the point I'm trying to get across is,
be light headed,
be lovestruck,
be immature,
and be inexperienced.
Be boy crazy,
and be bewitched,
have your heart broken,
but never forget this...

Just have fun while doing it.
Because life is just too **** short to sit and sulk,
or to cry and complain,
oh, it drives me insane!

Nothing is perfect when you're young,
in fact, it's far from it.
But it's not suppose to be, it's suppose to be fun,
so do yourself a favor,
and enjoy it.

Live a lot,
love a lot,
and most of all,
never forget these rambling thoughts,
written down on the back,
of a letter from the bank,
saying I over-drafted some eighty dollars.

(See, growing up *****.)

It’s days like this, when you’re walking alone
When you are stopped in your tracks by something so beautifully grown
I wasn’t expecting to have my breath taken from me that day
But it happened

From her leaves to her roots there was nothing but beauty
How could she not be marked as a national sight to see?
Maybe to the world she was one lost in the crowd of millions
But to me she’d always stand out

My walk through the park would never be the same
The path I took was forever changed
My daily walk was now longer and more challenging
But she was worth it

Slowly I built up the courage to make my mark
I walked up to her, pulled out a knife, and carved away at the bark
I wasn’t sure if the mark would someday fade
But I had to try

I am not much of an artist, but my work would be true
And slowly but surely I carved out the word “you”
Such a simple three-letter word
But it’s apart of a bigger piece

Struggling to keep the knife steady in my hand
I moved on to carve the symbol for and
Nothing more than a conjunction
But it’s what connects us

Tired but determined, I carved the letters “M” and “E”
Finishing a phrase I think is meant to be
A message so seemingly well understood
But each letter holds a meaning

Encompassing the words in an ***** meant to always beat
I step back for a better view, still roots to feet
It’s a little jagged and uneven
But it makes me smile

She is special in every single way
All I could do is hope my symbol would stay
I wasn’t expecting my breath to be taken from me that day
But it happened

Love her, not because
the earth would shift
without her;

but because she shows
you flowers on the
ordinary land.

Love her, not because
she'll help you move
the mountains;

but because she'll stick
around and will be there
to hold your hand.

Love her, not because
you think you'd drown
without her;

but because you know
she'll wait for you
until you reach the shore.

Love her, not because
you cannot live
without her;

but because you know
that with her, your whole life
will mean much more.


And don't tell her that
you need her, she's
your reason to survive.

Only that she brings
the glory to your
ordinary life.

I wrote a lot of poems
about a lot of people
and many of those poems
mentioned love.

but I like to think that you're
the one who'll read them when
you're eighty, sitting beside
me in your chair.

I like to imagine your hair
as it turns grey,
your frown lines and wrinkles
of your smiles and your worries
and the sound of your laugh
that has not changed with the years,
and the way you'd wipe away my tears
of both pain and joy.

I like to think of rings and kisses
and your hands on mine,
of you asleep next to me on
winter nights, of newspapers
and car rides and Christmasses
and all those things that make
a life together.


I wrote a lot of poems
about a lot of people
and many of those poems
mentioned love,


but I like to think my best ones
are about you.