someday someone out there is going to look at you like you’re made of stardust and will love you as if it's what they were born to do.

wait for it.

You arrive
at home
alone
one more
time

Your company
is just
the taste
of alcohol
and cigarrets

There is
nothing more
close by
besides
you
and your
solitude

The bed
feels empty
without
a body
a person
someone

If you
are reading
those words
know that
still remain
a little bit
of myself

but all
of this
seems to be
a goodbye
a farewell to
the world

and all
these words
can't fill
the emptiness
of this
bed

If I carved the words "I love you"
into every inch of my skin,
would you believe them?
Would you believe me?

If I painted a picture of my heart
with the very blood that it pumps,
would you cherish it?
Would you cherish me?

If I promised that there was no one else,
that there was only you,
would you accept that?
Would you accept me?

Falling in love was the easy part.
But none of the teen romance novels you've read could have prepared you for what comes when you stay.
The After.
You learn quickly.
Learn to love the constant back and forth and the everlasting yes and no's and the late night phone fights.
Stay in this after with him even when the door was open for escape in the before, when every part of your being was left intact.
Love the boy who took ever last ounce of space in your heart. The boy with emotions as ever changing as the seasons, who bleeds his nationality and carries his heart tucked into his sleeve.
Love the boy who became the Heathcliff to your Catherine.
Learned to love this After because whatever these souls are made of, they are the same.

I
write
for the pleasure
when all that is pent up is
let free
I
write
for cleansing
of the things within
that fracture a heart and cloud a
thought
to
solace
a lone soul that longs for
a home
I
write
for understanding
to forget as much as I can
to forgive as I’m able the wrong that is done
to neutralize hurt before it roots
into hate
I
write
for healing
to touch and be touched
as written words can only do when all else has been used  
and no one comes
through
I
write
to listen
to hear what needs to be
heard
I
write
what I see
because it moves me
and what inspires me might inspire
those who take time to read what I write
I
write
because I must
if I don’t it doesn’t feel right
thus I pen what I feel
as a result of what I am
a writer
so…
I
will write
and
write, 'til
there’s
no

more

Life

Sorry you hate me so much.
Sorry I can't help but throw words of advice at you,
but you are so sad,
and you had brought me down in the months I've known you,
and it's such a habit to bring you back up instead of bringing myself up.

Sorry she tore your heart out of your chest,
and you can't help but keep ripping up the pieces,
but don't you see she's not even remotely close to being "worth it"?

Sorry I made you talk to me again,
after I told you stop,
but you made the promise that you wouldn't leave,
although how many times has that promise been made?

Sorry I want to find you,
and scream at you to make you understand
that no girl will ever understand you,
like I understood you,
when I stayed all night with you the night I came home after a long trip,
and all we did was talk about the stars,
and I saved your life for what seemed like the millionth time.

But I'm even more sorry for not even wanting you,
and for you not wanting me,
and for you being blinder than ever,
because you depend on others to be your happiness,
and aren't you aware that's the most self destructive thing you can put on yourself?

I look up at the stars that had once brought us together
And I am thankful they tore us apart