She can be dangerous
She can be mean

She can be perfectly polished; pristine.

She can go overboard
She can be sad

She can also become undeniably mad.

No matter how hard I try
The ink blothches on the page,
The paint on the canvas,
The pencil on the paper,
They will never transform
Into real life

Learn to love the flaws,

And just take a look and pause,

For your body is beauty,

Even if only you see.



You may not see it now,

But you must take a bow,

For your body is music,

And you play it acoustic.



Run you hands across your thighs,

And listen to the sighs,

For your body is a work of art,

And you know it by heart.



Take the breaths you need,

For self-hate is just the seed.

Let go of the doubt you feel,

So  you can finally heal.

maybe i was right
maybe i was wrong
but i now have a new found passion
now that you're gone

I want something other than ****
with the short shorts showing
everything
the low-cut crop top
exploring eyes wander over
on countless evenings
my imagination having nothing
left

I want smokey flannel
a two-day-old pony tail
boots stained by the dirt and grass
a hole in your jeans
that wasn't there when you found them

I want hungover-fastfood-drive-throughs
with my shorts and your tank top
wrinkled from your floor
your hair still wet from the morning shower

I want leggings, a t-shirt
and a backwards ball cap
while we sing loudly out the open window
tapping the dashboard off-beat
hand raised fingers pointing at the moon
laughing at the man that sits watching us drive

When a writer falls in love, well, you're pretty much ******.
I have never been in love myself.
I've only thought I was in something like "love".
But I know that when that time comes, if ever, I will love unconditionally.

The reason I say that you're ****** if a writer falls in love is because we never forget.
We don't know how to forget,
All we know is how to reminisce.
Then again, even if you are not a writer this still applies to many.

But the thing is we will write about you.
Whether you were only part of lives for a while, or for a lifetime.
We will write.
Everything.

We will write about the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand on the freeway.
We will write about the way you like your coffee and the way you drink it.
We will write about the way you would sing to your favorite songs and the way you would rap your favorite verses without messing up.

We will write about the little details that you think we have forgotten,
Yet the little details is all we can remember.

You could have hurt us in the worst way ever,
Yet we will still describe as the most alluring human being.

That's the thing about us,
We write about people who sometimes don't deserve to be written about.
We write about places and memories that we wish we could forget.
And here I am, writing about them as if I could release them out of my memory.
I'm pretty much ******..
because I know I'll always write about everything and everyone.
Either with joy or with pain.

When a writer falls in love, well, you're pretty much ******.