My heart goes out to many
My heart goes out to few
To friends who have my back
To the one I saved for you

Many think we have one heart
But I find that to be untrue
For I love the ones around me
As much as I love you

Some think I over exaggerate
When I yell out "I love you"
To a stranger, an acquaintance I just met
But they deserve love, too

So understand this heart of mine
In the many pieces you see
Is not broken, no,
But used, to share with many

The many are the ones I just met
The few are the ones I hold dear
If the many give it back to me
Then I give more to the few

Womanhood

In my ever eternal fight between
Pain and rapid mood swings
I have learned to accept
What I have been given by my mother.

Womanhood

In my ever insulting fight between
Objectification and misunderstanding
I have come to understand
"My body is a temple"
Is not a complement but an insult.

Womanhood

As my hair grows longer and longer
And I cut it shorter and shorter
And people tell me to "look more feminine"
I can't help but dress "more masculine."

Womanhood

Because I have to accentuate my assets
With tight jeans and skinny dresses
And if I forget a push-up bra
"It's a boy" jokes are made.

Womanhood

Because my knowledge of cars
And my firm hand shake
Awes men and makes them test me
Instead of conversing with me and moving on with their day

Womanhood

Because I am scared to leave the house by myself
And my father's overbearing protection
Instead of believing I can protect myself
In any given situation

Womanhood

Because my brother can go out whenever he wants
And can curse like a sailor
But I have to be a sweet southern belle
And answer a million and one questions just to take a walk

Womanhood

Because we have to justify ourselves
Because guys have to be perfect in the eyes of "feminists"
Because all of this bullsh!t has gone over the edge.

Womanhood

I can't call myself a feminist
And I sure ain't a misogynist
I'm just trying to scrape by
Just trying to get through this trying

Womanhood

My heart's not what it used to be
My heart feels something strange
Something goes and makes it flutter
Not necessarily in a good way

My heart is like a little kid
My heart likes to play around
Something goes and makes it skip and jump
Not a game I like to feel

My heart doesn't like me much
My heart throws temper tantrums
Something goes and makes it close on me
Not very nice to know

But my heart is my heart
It might be a little unwell
But it is mine
And I think I'm getting used to it

I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.

There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.

Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same

Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility

Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality

But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.

17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.

17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.

But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.

I've always wondered
What my life would be like
If I was the rebellious child.

I've always wondered
What my life would be like
If I was the type to party.

I've always wondered
What my life would be like
If I was the quiet girl in class.

I always wondered
What my life would be like
If I didn't care as much.

But I follow the rules
I don't party
I'm not quiet.

I care too much;
I care too much about people,
People who don't care for me.

What if I was totally different?
What would that be like?
Who would I be?

I would be no one
Because who I am
Is who I want to be.

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.

My friend,
You tell me to love myself,
But I hadn’t enough love left.
You see I gave it to you,
And many others too,
And I don’t expect it back.

My friend,
You tell me to be happy inside,
But I hadn’t enough happiness left
You see I gave it to those
Who deserve it the most,
And I can’t say I regret that.

My friend,
You ask me if I’m alright,
And you know I’ll always say yes.
You see it’s easy for me
To say that I’m just fine,
When really I’m dying inside.

My friend,
Tonight I cried myself to sleep.
This night, out of all the others.
Even though you asked me,
More times than one,
If I needed to vent.

I should’ve said yes.

My friend, my dear friend.
I’m not ready to say goodbye.
And bit by bit it’s eating at me,
If you look closely you can see.
You can see the color in my eyes are dim,
You can see how hollow my cheeks have been.

But I don’t care.

I don’t care if I’m letting my weight slip.
I don’t care if I have love for myself.
I don’t care if I soak my pillow every night.
For the rest of my life.

My friend, my dear friend,
I say this with love.
Love that I should have for me,
But the selfishness would hurt too much.

My friend,
As long as I know that you’re okay,
Then maybe I’ll have a smile the next day.
Maybe I’ll be happy again.
Maybe this goodbye,
Won’t hurt so bad.