too attractive for his own good
too attracted for my own good

**** **** ******* hell
**** everything oh my god
**** **** **** **** ****

let me near enough
to touch you

i don't mind
getting cut
on your edges

like a sad lone comet
i wander

please pull me into
your orbit

he was as beautiful
as he was cold

I do not wish
for a happy ending.
I simply wish
for it all to end.

she hadn't
felt anything
for so
long
she started
to thank people
for hurting her.

can
       i  
         even
                                     complicate
                                               your
                                                    breathin­g?

there is so much beauty in this world
but how come
i only see all of it when my eyes are on you

i'd like to kiss you

but i can't bring myself
to lean closer

in fear of
tasting all the things
you won't tell me

i didn't mind getting
paper cuts
for he was
my favorite book

Maybe it won't hurt as much when he leaves
because I am so used to loving him from a distance
Across the hall
Across the room
There is still so much distance even
When he is right in front of me
When my mouth sputters words that try to pull him closer
There is always so much distance
Even when I am pressed against him
With our arms wrapped around each other in a hug
I can never seem to get close enough
But like I said
I am so used to loving him from a distance
I guess a few more thousand miles won't hurt

your eyes could meet mine
for only half a second

and i’d end up thinking about them
for half a century

nothing on
  my mind
but
   you

i wish history really did
repeat itself
because i badly
want you to happen to me
again

there is plenty of time in the world,

just not enough for us

my

even after we're through
i've made us permanent
long after our feelings have died
my heart will still beat in these poems
and i will still be the starry eyed girl stealing glances in each verse
and in 10 years time
i may see you again
and my head won't buzz, my stomach won't tumble, my cheeks won't flush
but these pages
are proof
that they once did.

"do i ever even cross your mind?"

"you've never left."

i want to hold your hand
but the mere thought
of our fingers brushing
leaves my palms sweating
and chest pounding
i want to see you
but that requires you seeing me
and it makes me want to fold myself in,
all the parts of me i'm not proud of
there are too many
because to you i am only a fleeting star like all the rest in the sky
but to me you are long-lived galaxies taking up my headspace, lasting, lingering
even after the last star burns out.

He was her 11:11 wish, still.

i know i said it wouldnt matter
if its not you and me in the end
but some nights the what if's and could have's won't let me sleep

and the stillness of the hours before sunrise
remind me of the stillness between us,
unsure words and hesitant conversations

and in those hours
i still catch myself
wanting

is finding out
you think of someone else
as much as i do you

oh god i just wish i'll be something you'd miss

her hands left graveyards.
over and over, she longed to
hold his heart
but only managed to barely touch
with her fingertips,
just barely within reach
each time

he didn't know what to do with all the headstones

like clockwork,
i think of you
i wait for you
i long for you

like clockwork,
except these hands don't move
and i end up
losing my time over you
losing my mind

just
like
clockwork

there was a boy who looked like moonlight;
beautiful and
fleeting

yet this eclipse
seemed to hold on forever

she waited for him like sunrise

i want more than just a glimpse of your mind
more than just another hi
talk to me
no need to be subtle
your voice is enough to turn my rigid parts supple

it's poetry when he speaks
it's supernovas and entire galaxies colliding
when he speaks to me

You’ve spent
so much time smashing
     your own reflection
all there’s left to walk
     on is broken glass.

months after, her heart still bled.

his heart was cold,
yet his soul
set mine ablaze

for months,
not a single sentence have i written about you
but not writing about you
and not thinking about you
are two different things

i love the smell
of rain before downpour
and the sound of the first few raindrops
falling angry on the roof
i like to pretend its the sound of
you knocking at the door,
eager to come home