Do not fall in love with me
I will turn every empty second into a overanalyzed thought
I will fill the spaces between our heartbeats with lovesongs emitted from my fingertips
I will make your words into poetry
Recite them over and over until they are tattooed on your skin
I will make your lips a sacred temple and send my prayers through kisses
Your body will become my garden where i will plant myself roots up
Intertwine my vines with yours
I will call you the sun
Your breath will become my air and I will use you to photosynthesize
I will forget that I am not a tree
And you are not my forest
I will forget that we are only human
So do not fall in love with me
Unless you are willing
To love the details.

Addiction is not beautiful
It is nights spent cradling bitter liquid in a glass bottle
Held against your heart like a bible
Scraping the ash out from underneath your fingernails
It is learning how to cover up the parts that you are ashamed of
Scarred skin that shows every war lost with yourself
Finding ways to pull fabric over even your darkest corners
And figuring out how to leave the least visible damage
It is crushed pills making a home in the sides of your nostrils
And holding back your head until the bleeding stops
It is nocturnal nights and sleep filled days
Obsession over every single sober second
Addiction is ruthless
Harrowing
Agonizing
It is something that nobody chooses
And it is anything but
Beautiful.

I swear that in another life I was a crow. A bird of black feathers and mystery, cawing at the wind and nesting myself high above civilization. I think crows are beautiful. Beautiful like the blood moon lunar eclipse being the first of the year, beautiful like rain water slapping the windows of a glass house, beautiful like the way veins insist on being pointed out through pale skin, I think beauty is in perspective. When people think of crows, they think of bad luck, evil, and death, these are the convictions that cultural mythology instilled upon us. Poe once wrote the raven to symbolize mournful and never ending remembrance, the bird being a reminder to one's desent into madness, he forgot to mention the magic that these creatures maintain. What spells evil to some is beauty to another. Anything can be beautiful if you look at it the right way and we so often look at things incorrectly. Eyes half opened, blinded by some form of unnatural light, we so often look at things with skewed perspective. We are often unable to bend our reality in order to see something that we dont want to believe in. Why do we look at blackbirds as a symbol of fear and white doves as free and pure? And why is white and pure always somehow perceived as better? Crows may be dark, but make no mistake, they are not hollow. These birds are known to be some of the most intelligent animals on this earth yet we disregard them based on history and how they look, tell me, does this say anything about our society? How we are so easily willing to put aside something because they are not the typical definition of beauty? How often do we not take the time to recognize the charm that lays within difference? Difference is beauty. Charm is mystery. I think that crows are charming. Crows to me, are the four leaf clover, the rabbits foot attached to a key ring, crows manage to bring me a sense of comfort and beauty, I think crows are beautiful. I say that in a past life I was one. Too many times have I been followed by them, hearing there echoes in trees, crows always seem to find a way to come to me, even in my darkness and therefore i choose to percieve them as light. Life is all about perspective. So what most see as ugly, I choose to percieve as beauty. I swear I was a crow in a life before this one. But for now i am a girl. A human. And as for the future? Nevermore.

If we are to ever fall in love, remember these things. Remember the things that make me laugh the most as I will need it when I am grumpy and in a bad mood, i have a love for bad jokes and anything ******* related, it is noted that I have the sense of humor relevant to a  12 year old boy. I was 12 years old when I first learned how to hate my own body. I mastered the art of dissonance while simultaneously shredding any sense of self worth from my paper skin, I was taught that I was not and never would be good enough. To this day, I still don't feel whole. Thats not to say I never will, I am constantly growing and learning to love my whole being. Still, when you tell me that I am pretty, or beautiful, when I am in your arms and you tell me that I have a perfect body and a loving soul, a part of me will not believe it. When you compliment me, I will lay there silent, not because I don't want to accept it, but because I truly don't know how. How you could possibly love something that has been broken so many times before, I will constantly second guess myself unable to believe that you are somehow capable of loving something as ******* up as me. I am always trying to ***** into place all of the pieces that define me, always checking to make sure that the glue i've used to put myself back together is still holding. Holding me in your arms will always be calming to me. I could be jumping out of my body but the moment that you rest your hands around me, I will fall quiet. If you remember anything, remember that touch is the one thing that can speak to me when nothing else can. Use your fingers to form words on my skin and your palms to send heat to the arctic places of my trembling frame. I am always trembling. But I am not nervous, rather calm with a disorder that causes my nerves to constantly spell out fear as if I am afraid. if I am afraid, I will not show it. I will hold it in because I was told at a young age that vulnerability is synonymous with weakness. But that is not always the case. The strongest moments I have are when I am face forward, naked soul, and crying. If you get the chance to see me cry, you are special. Remember that you are special. Remember that I can be happy too. Remember that even in the darkest of storms, the sun still lives on. Only in rain can we truly learn to admire clarity. I will be your clarity. When your vision is blurred and your ability to see is hazy, know that I will guide you through any fog that you encounter. I will not surrender until you force me to and even then I will refuse to give up. Astrology has told me that i am hard headed and strong willed. And ******* its true. I will walk to the ends of the earth for you before I give in, remember this. Remember that in my book, love is the biggest chapter, one that is constantly being scratched out and rewritten. Love is the part of my story that I have yet to figure out whether or not will ever be finished. Remember that I remember things far too well to ever forget you. I will not forget you. I will love you. Sacrifice my limbs to worshipping every part of you. I may not do what most lovers do. But most lovers don't remember the details. And the details make me who I am. So love my details, my imperfections, my lines, my freckles, love me like the way the stars admire the moons ability to be elusive. I am elusive, obsolescent, and desolated, yet I am free. But i can only be your moon if you let me. So please, let me be, your moon.

I swear to whatever god there is
Out there
That when you touch me
Light is emitted

When your skin
Just barely grazes
My skin
I swear I can almost see
The air particles kiss

When I wrap myself
Around your body
I can hear the silence whispering
About us

I can hear them speaking
Saying softly
how beautiful
Incandescence is
In the human form.

Mom and dad there are plenty of things, that i never told you. And thats not to say i never confided in you, id say you know me more so than anyone else has or ever did but mom and dad there are a few things that over the years ive hid. Things i still to myself cant admit. There are things i have never told you. But i think its about time that i did.
Like that time when i was 15 and it was halloween and i told you i was sleeping at haleys and she told her parents that she was sleeping at ours, and her parents were out of town and we threw a wild party and the cops almost came but they didnt and we somehow managed to get away with it, yeah i never told you that.
I never told you about the times my body fell numb after digging through the pill cabinents and swallowing whatever remnants i could get my hands on, you werent wrong when you finally caught me and accussed it of not being the first time. It wasnt.
It wasnt easy for me to tell you about the times when i felt like my body belonged to someone else and i was merely a stranger leasing it out from time to time, it wasnt easy for me to tell you about my depression. To tell you what it felt like, what it still feels like sometimes to be a ghost in your own personal hell, the devil on your shoulder being your only friend. And when i stayed in bed for days on end it was always easier for me to tell you that i was sick. And i was sick.
It wasnt until the first time i had found myself holding a razor against my silk white skin that i realized this. And the realization wasnt enough for me to do anything about it. When you asked me what the marks on the back of my neck were, i told you it was eczema. That it was probably some hives that would go away if i left it alone but i lied. They were cuts. But i didnt want to tell you because i knew you would be ashamed and concerned and i didnt want that. So i told you it was a rash. And you believed that. I learned that day to stop wearing my hair up. To always cover up the parts of my body that showed every war lost with myself. I learned that day to treat my body less like an open battleground, and more like a designated warzone, parts not visible to the human eye became my scared temple where i burned the holy scriptures of my skin.
When i told you at 15 that i was no longer a ******, i wasnt kidding. But i did leave out the bits of uncertainty i had felt in the moments when i had given myself away, i left out the hesitation that i had never even had a chance to proclaim, *** came as quickly to me as anything else and i never had even had a moment to think about. I dont even know if at the time i wanted it, all i know is that when it happened i was too high to question it so i didnt. I never told you that i never knew how to say no.
No. That was the answer to whenever i begged to do things far beyond my age. But i always found a way around it. Like when i told you i was sleeping at haleys every night and i really slept over at the house of whatever boy i dated that summer, i still dont know how you never caught on. I sometimes i wonder if you did. If maybe you knew it all and respected me enough, trusted me enough to pretend you didnt, i didnt deserve all of the trust you lent me. But i learned from it. Without the freedom to **** up and grow i dont think i would have the capacity to know what i do now. Mom and dad i want to thank you for giving me the space to figure out how to get up when i fall down. I want to thank you for keeping me close enough to breathe the same air but not close enough to suffocate, mom and dad there are still things you dont know. But in order to hear most of those things youll have to wait.

There is science to a broken heart

When the heart strings that connect the valves of your soul collapse
When the veins are full and heavy with the weight of let downs and false promises
When your bones ache the same as a near fatal injury
Know that it is not a phantom pain
Not an empty longing
For a temporary someone
You mistook as permanence
The ghosts of their skin forever
haunting with their former touch

The pain of a ruptured spirit
Is equal to that of being hit by a truck
Going full speed down the highway
Lights off
No warning signs
Is equal to the pain associated with The inability to forget
You place a do not enter sign around your heart
Next to the caution tape
Marked on your skin

The science to a broken heart
Can not be found
In an anatomical enclyopedia
But it's existence
Is not to be questioned
Heartbreak has been researched
Enscribed by historys greatest
For fitzgerald felt the blows to his being
From love that thrashed with winds and currents
A hurricane

Often the subject of their own experiments,
Writers are the scientists who study broken hearts
Words used as algorythms
Attempting to respond to
Questions we might never get an answer to
We're often left wondering
And often time its suffice

Because if we were to know why
Why the sun aches for the moon When the moon only has love for the stars
Why the theory of newton and gravity
Will never account for humans falling
Why storms are named after people

If we knew
We might not expose ourself to said research
We like the unknowingness
That science has yet to offer a conclusion to
The unknowingness that is often synonymous
With love.