The girl who would rather spend her Friday night at home organizing her room than at the parties.
The girl who would rather curl up and read at lunch than sit and socialize over talk of nothing but "people".
The girl who would rather drown out the world with music than sit in class and be involved.
The girl who would rather work alone and finish her homework in class, than sit in the big social groups making weekend plans.
The girl who would rather be independent and be judged as a loner than be friends with people who will secretly judge you.
The girl who would rather collect books and records than makeup.
The girl who would rather study astrology than watch every show on Netflix.
The girl who would rather thrift shop and buy $3.99 boots than buy top of the line $80 boots.
The girl who realizes that all of this does not make her any better than them.
The girl that realizes she is only trying to impress herself; confidence is key.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

You say you love that I see you through only my eyes and not the worlds.
But that is only because
You are not your bitter mood on your bad days when the world is not in your favor.
You are not a naive teenage boy who doesn't know enough to form arguments with adults.
You are not your hometown or the funny kid in class.
You are not where you plan to go to college after high school.

You are your favorite meal and the way it tastes just a bit saltier than sweet.
You are your favorite songs and the way they get silent right before the bass drops in the car and the sound overwhelms you with goosebumps.
You are all of your witty remarks that I will never cease to be amazed by the quick intelligence that your mind holds.
You are your kind words that I crave to hear every morning and every evening.
You are your favorite movies and why the part where they accidentally shoot the gun at the wall is hilarious.
You are your passions and deepest dreams that no one bothers to understand.
You are a beautiful living form of art and deserve to be loved.
You deserve someone to wake you up with soft kisses and quiet whispers.
You deserve someone to make you breakfast just the way you like it.
You deserve someone to make your bed and put away your clothes.
You deserve someone to be there for you even when you are in your grumpiest states.
You deserve someone who loves music and thunder storms just as much as you do.
You deserve someone who loves spontaneous adventures and quiet summer evenings.
You deserve to be loved and I hope that one day you come to see that.

Let's make a map of all the places we've made love in this small town.

Is love the color of his deep ocean blue eyes?
Or the color of that light blue t-shirt he wears that makes me feel like I am drowning in them?
Or maybe love is the color of that grey & red baseball tee he wore once that looked like it was solely made to fit and hold his muscles.
Maybe love is the smell of that familiar cologne he wears that reminds me of the first day we hung out and when he carried me to his car.
Or maybe love is the smell of the cookies we will make in the future in our little home together at 2am with no interruptions except our playlist changing songs.
Or maybe love is in the way he looks at me as if I am something so extraordinary while we are simply lying down, or sitting at a café.
Maybe love is in the way he looks at me when I say something ditzy, but he keeps his mouth shut to spare my feelings.
Maybe love is tucked away in the mess of blankets we seem to create every single time we are on a bed together.
Is love the sound of his voice when he calls me to tell me he misses me at 1am, or when he calls and asks to hangout at 4pm?
Is love the sound of his voice when he tells me that he can't express how grateful he is to have me in his life and how he wants me to be by his side forever?
Or maybe love is the way the word babe rolls off his tongue like an old familiar song with a warm memory.
Although these are all very logical places that love may like to hide, I believe love's favorite hiding place, is in the constant laughter and glowing smiles we share whether it is 2am or 2pm.
Love is patient and love is kind.
**He is love.

He found me in places I never even realized I was lost in.