You're alive, but are you really living?

You have your head wrapped around your phone. You burry your face in your pillow every night, thinking about every problem you have to face the next morning. You're facing yourself in the mirror wondering how in the world you will cover that humungous blemish that made itself at home in the middle of your forehead.

Now, let me ask why.
Why do trivial things like this matter?

They don't.

In those precious moments, you have missed so many great things...

You were too busy on your phone to see the way the sun rises so beautifully in your bedroom window. You were so caught up in your own problems that you forgot to look around and see all the problems the world has solved. You were so entranced in the mirror, focusing on that blemish that you failed to notice your beauty, your self worth.

Now, let me ask you again.
You're alive, but are you really living?

You said I was the first
And only girl you ever loved.
To show me,
You gave me
a little black ball of fuzz,
A tiny life,
with eyes as green as yours,
And with that cat,
You sparked my newest love.
When I doubted,
You didn't bother to ask why,
You just ran.
I came back,
Hoping you were there.
Ironically enough,
You had left me for a girl
Who already loved cats...

But she will never love you.

At the most recent party I went to
I was only warm.
The complete opposite of what I wanted to feel.
And you said warm is ideal. Right?
And I said no. **** the middle.
I. Want. To. Burn.
From the kind of dancing that makes your back sweat
Hips swing
From the Afro Latin beats
Whine to the Caribbean dance hall music
Naturally stepping without getting stepped on.
Screaming in unison to the lyrics of a dumb top 40's song.
Breaking my back to some nasty reggaeton
Throwin it back to the 90's classic. OW!
Gettin intimate body to body in a tasteful salsa.
Baby baby baby you make me wana holla.
I want to sweat!
But no one's dancing.
There's too much beer pong.
And I'm warm,
Only from alcohol.
I'm leaving this party.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.