This Valentine's Day,
The spot on your hip belongs to her.
The feel of your hand belongs to her.
The safety of your arms wraps around her.
The warmth of your body melts her heart.
The taste of your lips covers hers.

When your heart strings have been torn once again,
Even though you thought you'd found the one to protect them.
When the ache in your chest thuds louder and faster,
Each pound a reminder of what you've lost
When your very world seems to collapse within itself,
But you no longer have the strength to pick up the pieces again.
Yeah, that feeling.

" I love your positive outlook on life. It's like you're never
depressed. Or at least
I wouldn't think so,"  you tell me.
Maybe that's why DeCaprio never won his Oscar;
they're  savin' 'em all for me.

Stopping placing me on this pedestal
Of your high expectations.
This pedestal of your high demands
And harsh words in quotations.
Building faster than I can find
My balance on my feet,
Gripping and grasping on to the edge
Not exactly an acrobatic feat.
You construct this column so high
As I struggle to keep up.
So high up here all alone,
And all I want to do is backup.
Please, I'm begging on my knees,
Up here all alone and I feel a lone breeze.
Only the sky up here on this solitary pedestal so tall,
And the higher you place me, the harder I'll fall...

He finds happiness and comfort in me,
While I'm looking for solace,
where could it be?
He sees a glow in my eyes,
Lit by an artificial happiness.
It's my fault, not yours,
That I'm drowning in my sadness.

Drawing an intricate design
of emotion on my skin
was always a
catastrophic mess...
But I needed a coping mechanism.

Experience isn't seen as a single solid object so much as the stories on our skin.
Experience is etched into the wrinkles ripples across your face, each line a tale of growth and maturity and wisdom.
Experience is found within your laugh lines, recalling times of great laughter and great woe.
It flaunts across your skin in freckles and beauty marks, lines of hereditary history stretched against you.
It demands attention in ink portraits, colors against a canvas of pigmentation.
Embrace every scar, and bruise, and imperfection for they tell your story beyond words. They are the measure of experience.