~She will fall so hard you will need to pick her up
~She will take in every word you say and turn it into a weapon of self destruction
~She will write novels about the little things you do
~Every kiss with her will last to the count of infinity
~She will need you at two a.m. to stitch her battle wounds
~You will have to take on the job of being a safety net to catch her when she slips
~She will beg you to part the clouds so she can dance it the sunlight with you
~She will fight you till the end of time for trying to say she is beautiful
     ~She will never just take your compliments
~She will lie and say she's okay when there is a war in her head
**~She will love you more than she can love herself

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

Be real
Be original
Be classy
Be traditional
Love your family
And save me from mine
Tell me nerdy jokes
Make me snort out laughing
Let me adjust to your touch
Be patient enough not to rush
Remember the things I tell you
And open up to me too
Ask me questions
Bandage my cuts
Be my two A.M.
Be yourself
And let me be me

Out of place and rather uncertain
Lacking instructions, suggestions and a warning
Bouncing about like a toy ball
Uncomfortable with all my tics
I've always felt so quirkily and small

Lacking order and any sense of being,
Feeling out of place, unloved no ones ever hearing,
Broken and bruised from head to toe,
My scars shining bright against the pale white snow,
Just because I couldn't learn to walk straight,

Crooked toothed but grinning
I always feel like I'm sinning
Every time I'm early I feel late
Burnt to a crisp is the price of the flame
I'm just a solo player stuck in this game*

Maybe I'm the sinner and you're the saint,
Your halo is burning, getting lost in the flames,
Take my hand and join with me,
For we can end the heartache that seems to be,
Lets be awkward together,
There's no one better

Out of place and rather uncertain
Lacking instructions, suggestions and a warning
Bouncing about like a toy ball
Uncomfortable with all my tics
I've always felt so quirkily and small

Lacking order and any sense of being,
Feeling out of place, unloved no ones ever hearing,
Broken and bruised from head to toe,
My scars shining bright against the pale white snow,
Just because I couldn't learn to walk straight,

Crooked toothed but grinning
I always feel like I'm sinning
Every time I'm early I feel late
Burnt to a crisp is the price of the flame
I'm just a solo player stuck in this game*

Maybe I'm the sinner and you're the saint,
Your halo is burning, getting lost in the flames,
Take my hand and join with me,
For we can end the heartache that seems to be,
Lets be awkward together,
There's no one better

Inside the gothic chamber of my heart
A round shaped table,painted dark,
A chandelier from crystals made.
A mirror seeking my own fate.

Up on a chair,a little child ,
With hair as night and eyes so wild
That a single stare could cut
Through the ration of a thought.

Every day he takes a knife
And he cuts himself alive.
All from scars, his body's made,
Counting them to stay awake.

Stay awake he always thought
If you sleep all fall apart
If you close your eyes to weep
The whole world will die asleep.

One day ,he touched his face
Searching for a tiny place,
Where he could add a scar to count,
But no place, was to be found.

With his vision towards the moon
His counting stopped.He entered soon
The dreaded dream he always found
A thing to fear,the holy ground.

And in his dream he finds his heart,
A round shaped table,painted dark,
A chandelier from crystals made,
A mirror broken by his fate.

am I truly that evil?
comparable to relentless bullies,
the ones that you embody.

am I that awful?
like looking in mirror
seeing a body you despise.

am I that annoying?
like the voice of depression
that sounds a lot like you.