How am I supposed to tell you that I want to be
more than all the pretty girls that you always see,
more than the words that came out of your mouth,
more than all the places that you love to go at the south,
more than the notes that you always play on the piano,
more than your favorite word 'hello',
more than the songs that you love to sing,
more than that favorite thing you always bring,
more than the sky full of stars,
more than the cords that you string on your guitar,
more than the pictures that you always paint,
more than the cupcakes that you always bake,
more than the images that the clouds could ever make,
more than all your friends that you're with
and more than the air that we breathe
-

when she meant more to you
than what you would ever think of me.

Halloween.
Where have the days gone where I dressed as a witch and went from door to door?
Too old for that now.
If a zombie,
vampire,
or any form of ghoul,
decided to visit me tonight
I
wouldn't
even
flinch.
Because now phantoms come in the form of
finance pamphlets,
skeletons visit me disguised as
university prospectuses.
I quiver at the whispers of
"career choices" and
"moving out" and,
the ever looming,
satanic big one,
"The Future."
I use my duvet as a shield as if I was a child again,
shaking,
pleading,
"No, no, no",
only to be told
"Get out of bed, take some responsibility, grow up!"
Grow up.
I'd rather take on a werewolf.
I check for the monsters under the bed, only to find
they're my parents,
my tutor,
myself.
Please let me be that little witch again?

love is like a flower so gentle and kind
even when it's hidden it does not mind
it grows everywhere far and wide
and people can always take it's side

but some see the flower as only a ****
so they cast it aside and let it bleed
some trample over it without a thought
Not even knowing that soon it will rot

if only they had taken a moment to see
that little love flower had sprouted from me