They say that actions
Speak louder than words
So please
Let me hold you close
And instead of whispering into your ear
I'll lean over
And plant my words
Directly onto your lips

We recklessly
Unsheathe our arrows,
Their tips dripping
With an elixir
Of toxic affection.

I string my bow,
Aiming for the depths
Of your heart,
Only to be pierced
Fatally
Myself

there was something utterly charming
about the way you came to school
every morning at 7:30
wearing a lavendar scarf
from god-knows-where

you were eccentric, to say the least
stirring sugar into your coffee
with a ballpoint pen
and ignoring the margins of the paper
you used for last-minute assignments

but no one cared,
you were proud of you

because of you i learned
who terry pratchett is.
i started wearing ankle socks
because one day i saw you sitting
in an armchair, your legs crossed
and i thought,
"so this is adolesence"

god, you loved poetry too
scribbling microscopic sentences
onto a piece of paper you had folded
about six times into little squares
and i kind of miss how
you would go on about the beauty
of streetlights and pavement

you were a wild thing,
fickle with love
and oh-so argumentative;
you never lost a debate

even though we've grown apart
you burned a mark in my memory
one that i'll never forget,
endearingly quirky eliza

i am more than the moments of silence
that pass after i try to crack a joke with a forced smile

i am more than the mornings i wake up, too numb to escape
the thick sheets of my bed
to go to class

i am more than the colored capsules
i am told to pop into my mouth
every morning and night
in order to "feel better"

i am more than the image
they have fabricated of me:
a "self-righteous girl" too naive
to understand how others feel

i am more than rules
i have been told to follow
my whole life, centuries-old
etchings on stone tablets

i am more than the faded
scars on my limbs, the sunkenness
under my tired eyes, the bridge
i felt drawn to that fateful night

i am more than cookie-cutter
conversations, than a young woman
in a pretty little dress home from
school for the holidays

i am more than my fears,
my doubts, the demons that
reside within me and the
hollow shell i felt i have become

i am more than a number
on a computer screen,
a statistic among millions,
another face in the crowd

i am my name scribbled onto
a blank page in black sharpie,
with the tail of each letter curved
into the next, an informal cursive

i am the soft gurgling of a stream
as it splashes gently
over stones, an aster reaching
towards the sun on a spring day

i am the cascade of a song
through headphones late at night
and the mellow aroma of crushed
spices rising from a mug of tea

i am the way your fingertips
trace little circles on your desk
during your first class
on a monday morning

i am a lone star at night,
twinkling in no particular
pattern, but it's really just
an illusion of the atmosphere

i am more than a structure
of cells that heaves
with blood and oxygen,
feigning warmth and kindness

i am a fleeting thought
that enters your mind
before vanishing, that one
speck of dust you can't quite grasp

i am an enigma,
but i am still me