i'm wondering what makes your head spin and what makes your eyes light up like the stars that come out late at night. i can't stand the fact that you can't see that even the sun shines for you. you've got my heart in the palm of your hands and you don't even know it. i want to know the names of your favorite songs and i want to know what makes you think of someone so much you decide to write about them. i want to be the person you write poems about. i want to occupy your every thought and i want you to see me as the ******* center of your universe because you're the center of mine. rip open my chest and take my heart because i don't need it anymore, it's yours. it's been yours since the very first time i laid eyes on you. you never saw yourself as something beautiful but baby, god himself probably bragged to the angels when he created you. i don't always believe in god but sometimes i think he put you on this earth just so i could touch your lips with mine and trace the outline of your hips with my fingertips and i promise i will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to repay him. i'm not very romantic and i never believed in love but there can only be one explanation for the way my heart beats against my rib cage when you say you're addicted to me and if this feeling isn't love i don't care what it is, i don't ever want to go on without it.
what if i told you i am tired of this unrequited love story? i never thought those were romantic. you were once so fascinated by me. you always thought i was the most interesting, always thought i was worth picking out from the rest. your hands always felt gentle and soft against the endless pages of my mind and you were always excited, always waiting for the next plot twist. perhaps the imagery just wasn't real enough for you, the metaphors not as creative. maybe you decided that the characters inside were far too predictable. i keep thinking you'll come back and read between the lines and realize that i am truly worth rereading. but now even when you come back you aren't really here. i'm just another book on your bedside table, waiting to be picked up when you want to be reminded of what used to be.
found this from 2014 and decided to edit and finally post it
you keep looking up at the clouds
and wishing you'd see her face
because you know
she is too soft for this world.
you tell yourself
that you tried your best to hold onto her
but the truth is
she was never in your grasp to begin with.
There are so many things I want to tell you about, like the times I've written your name down over and over in the hopes that it would lose its meaning. I look up at the sky and I wonder if you look at it and think of me, the way that I think of you. I keep looking for you in the cracks between my fingertips, hoping that you are still hiding somewhere near. I know that you were too bright for me but I would risk going blind if it meant I got to keep looking at you.
you think you love her
but you wish her eyes didn't shine so brightly.
you wish her smile didn't light up
the entire town and you wish her voice
was just a little bit quieter.
you think you love her
but sometimes you wish
she would dim her light for you.
you never realized that she already had,
that without you
she could be more powerful than the sun.
I finally realized there’s a war going on inside my chest between the part of my heart that hates you and the one that loves you like it doesn’t know how to do anything else because it doesn’t. I remember loving you last year and this year and nine hours ago. You’re gone now and you didn’t leave anything for me to remember you by. I’ve searched for your dust in the creases of my bedsheets and I bet you’d be glad to know I found nothing. I found absolutely nothing and I’m sorry I still taste blood on my tongue every time someone mentions your name. I’m sick of hearing people say that I just need to forget you because I have tried everything, including touching other mouths with my own but I don’t know how to stop remembering you every time I open my eyes and see their eyes are the same color as yours. I know I haven’t been able to stop writing about you but I just can’t stop trying to explain how I missed your touch even before it was gone, how no matter what I do I see your face in strangers and no matter where I go you’re always almost there.
Reposting without the all caps because they are annoying now
sometimes the moon looks so close i almost think i could reach my hand up and touch her. i wonder how she would feel against my fingertips, if she would crumble at my touch or if her beauty would make me crumble instead. sometimes she looks so small i want to hold her against the palm of my hand. other times, she looks like she could crush me just by looking at me.
sometimes i wish i could let go of all of this weight i carry and go live in the sky with the clouds. sometimes, i wish i could touch the stars that come out at night and feel them burn my fingertips. as if somehow that would make the darkness inside me feel a little bit brighter.
sometimes i wish i could feel sadness instead of the emptiness that surrounds me. i ask myself why i rarely feel anything at all, why happiness only comes in small doses. when it does, i can hardly recognize it. it is only when i look back that i think maybe... maybe i was happy then.