I'm like a bad
haircut
I'm like a cold coffee
you spilled
I'm the maggot
to your garbage
I'm the parasite
to your plant
I'm the tears
to your sadness.

Here I am
every single thing
I do
always makes you
suffer
more
even more

I really wished that
one day
I will be diamond
to your crown
cure
to all of your diseases
genie
to all of your
wishes

I'm sorry
I'm not perfect enough
to make us
perfect
together.


November 26th 2013, 8:33 a.m

With pursed lips stained with cherry red lipstick she stood in front of her mirror and cried a little harder with each breath.
Why can't she be perfect?
Why can't she fall back in love?
Why can't she just ask for help again?
Watching herself in that mirror she saw her reflection... Makeup running down her face, and a cry for help only she saw each day...
Why couldn't she rewind?
Why couldn't she just take it all back?
Why was she so afraid the change and start new?
Today was the day she said with one shaky breath.... Today she would stop the self hatred and the tears.

She stopped asking why.
She stopped trying to rewind.
She stopped trying to be someone she wasn't anymore....

One day, walking through the forest,
I see a tree. The tree appears to be a normal tree,
and it is.
But it's somehow mesmerizing.
The spell it casts puts me into a bubble; a sweet bubble, a warm happiness.
Then, I see it.
This is the most beautiful creature.
It's dripping with gold.
Its warm skin bursts with energy and calmth.
It's beautiful hair plays in the golden sun.
The sweet air it breathes in comes out sweeter, filling the air with endless joy.
The blonde leaves dancing in the wind are mellifluous and stunning.
The breathtaking charisma overshadows all despair it has been through.

P.S. The tree is you.

P.P.S I love you.

I don't know when I lost myself. I don't know how, or when, or where. Was it eighth-grade science class, where I sat alone and prayed for opposites? Half of the time I would pray to be noticed, the other half I'd pray to remain ignored. Or was it the lonely nights I spent tangled in sheets, reminiscing about every insignificant little mistake I'd ever made? Maybe it was the books, or maybe the music that made me disappear. Maybe I got too caught up in the beauty of others' words that I lost any beauty in my own. Maybe it was the nights I snuck out or the days spent in the ocean that did me in.  
I don't know who I was before. She's gone, lost forever, and she's not coming back. The only thing I know for sure anymore is that when I lost the girl I used to be, I found myself.