Forever is a punishment
That even I once loved.
The thought of being with you
The thought of living with you.

Everything is not as it seems.
I fell in love with a rose,
And didn't realise
The thorns would ***** me.

The path we chose wasn't easy.
We vowed to fight.
Till death do us part,
Till the very end.

Everything seemed right,
Through the rose tinted glasses.
The romance,
The love.

But when reality hits,
And things really change.
The glasses are off
And I see your true face.

You changed,
Like a chameleon
On a branch or a leaf
You changed so much,
That I don't recognise your face

Iv fallen for a monster,
That ***** the life from me.
Yet still I love him so,
How can this be?

If forever is a punishment,
With him I'll tolerate it.
Live through the days of pain,
What will ending it gain?

Forever is a punishment,
That sounds so sweet
The truth behind it all,
I am yet to see.

they announced it on a monday,
in our school's old sweaty hall,
that a girl that i had math with,
wasn't coming back at all.
you could hear the silent questions
she was perfect, wasn't she?
what demons was she fighting,
that we were all too blind to see?
i sat on math that monday,
beside her now abandoned desk,
while our teacher warned us not to fail
our fast approaching test.
i remember she once whispered
that she was envious of me,
my parents knew the work it took
just to get a simple B.
i wish i'd noticed earlier,
or had the decency to ask,
because her world must have been crumbling
behind her "perfect student" mask.
and i wonder if on that sunday
it was the last thought in her brain
that the only A+ she could give
was the blood type in her veins

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

I wonder if you’d want to know
I named all of my demons after you and
they haunt me in my sleep

when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and
I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since

when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference

when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good

when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food
and I became anemic

when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because
I felt water had calories

when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap
and held my bones together for me

when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and
the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure

when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry

when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down
it hurt to eat
it hurt to breathe and
I started throwing up my empty stomach

the mind plays tricks on those that decide
nourishment is not needed

Eat.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

I'm ashamed; posting
these awkward poems; expecting
you'd read this and smile.