this feeling of calmness,
it won't always last.
breathe in the fresh air,
and take off your mask.

show your true identity,
for tonight is simply for you.
make it spectacular,
and learn something new.

darling, why are you shy?
this feeling won't last forever.
just look up to the sky,
catch the birds first feather.

these drugs are only temporary,
so make the most of them while you can.
for tomorrow will be back to normal,
and your final song will be sang.

I want to be painted onto the canvas of your future
and carved into the floorboards of your past
my love for you is deeper than the Atlantic
and I am the tide
constantly returning to your shore line
no matter how many times I'm turned away.
I once asked my mother
what the most tragic love story was
and she said it was the story of the moon and the sun
Cursed to live apart for eternity
only meeting briefly
at dusk
but with that
comes the beauty of the sunset
and these bruises
they are proof that the color spectrum
Does not hold enough reds and blues
to paint my endless sea of love
On to the canvas of your future

failure                                      failure
            ­                                                                 ­                                        failure
                                                         ­             failure
                           failure                                                                                                                      failure
                                                          failure                               failure
   failure
                                      failure            ­                                                                  failure

We lay together, it's a beautiful night
No clouds in the sky, just a full moon

We hold hands and you look up at the stars.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
"They are, aren't they?" you say, gesturing upwards.
"Oh, you meant the stars? They're pretty ugly compared to what I'm seeing." I reply.
Curious, she turns her head and sees me staring at her.
A smile lights up across her face, and for a moment I am blinded.
Then we kiss, and for some time, I am the happiest person in the world.
_

This happiness was not to last
For when I woke up, she was not in my arms
But she had left a note.
Before I even read it I knew something was wrong
There were tear stains on the letter
And it was written in messy handwriting
I begin to read
And words burn themselves into my skull
"It's better this way" or "nothing will change"
or even "I'm sorry I couldn't love you as much as I hate myself."
And then my world shattered.

Pretty
Pretty.
What does it mean to her?
Since the beginning time, she was always told she was pretty,
But at one point that little girl began to question
If what she was told was a lie.
Everybody seemed pretty,
But her.
She was no longer the “You should sign her up for modeling” girl.
She became “Oh, she’s ….. tall”
Or “Wow, you’re big! Oh I mean big for your age.”
When the “pretty” faded, so did her spirit.
The omnipresent smile was gone,
As well as her joy.
She became her mother’s nightmare
Moody,
Sensitive,
Irritable,
Argumentative.
She covered up her self-destructive insecurities with faux confidence and
“No really, I’m fine”
Just as if one covers up their unsightliness
With aggrandize grand eyes, cheeks and lips
No one ever knew that underneath all the bravado
There was still a little girl,
Who seemed grown physically and sometimes mentally,
Longing for someone to tell her she’s pretty.


Incorrect.


This little girl was waiting to tell herself she was pretty
And believe it.