He's not mine but that doesn't stop me from wishing that he was.
It doesn't stop that feeling in my stomach at the mention of his name
It doesn't stop me from watching him when he writes his name on paper
And it **** sure doesn't stop me from imagining what it would feel like to be blessed with his arms wrapped around my skin and our legs entwined
But these are those somewhat carnal thoughts that I only relish in when I'm alone.
The way he speaks- with that deep seductive voice - with such confidence and how his tongue touches his lips because of his perfect articulation drives me crazy.
It
Drives
Me
Crazy.
His swagger; the way he has a slight lean when he steps with his right foot and his hands are always held in his pockets
That makes me swoon.
His smile should be a sin.
There is no way in hell that anything on this earth should be so desirable.
But what makes him absolutely irresistible Is his mind.
That man is so intelligent with so much potential to make me his with a snap of his finger...
He book smarts transcend his street smarts so there is not a conversation you can have with him that he won't have an opinion to contribute.
This man  could easily be mistaken for a Greek god but he is so humble and so genuinely kind.
God was showing off when he made him.
But it's hard for me to imagine him and God in the same vicinity because of the way I desire him
to have his skin touching mine during all of the night hours
To have my fingers so deep in his back
To have his name be the last thing I whisper right before he sends me over the edge and brings me back again.
And to hear him promise through his clenched teeth and tight grip on my hair that he would do it over and over again
No, he's not mine though.
But you would never know that if you knew the way I see him in my mind.

maybe it's at the bottom of the bottle
maybe if I look hard enough
and drink long enough I'll find you
at the bottom of this bottle
maybe all the other ones weren't where you were
but maybe this'll be the one
maybe you'll say you love me
have it written in the bottom of this cup
maybe this cup will taste like you after a while
that way my thirst for you will be quenched
maybe
at the bottoms of this cup
filled with a whole bottle
you'll be there waiting
right along with my sanity
the two things that left as easily as they came....maybe

Do you remember the way you told me that you knew you were my weakness?
That was my black tar ******.

And do you remember the way you smiled at me?

That was my MDMA. 

I remember the way you made my nerve endings fire off all at once. 

That was my marlboro light. 

And I remember the way you left me. 
That was my loaded gun. 

But the one thing you and I will never forget is what you stole from me. 

That was my soul.

I was taught never to stay where I am not wanted. 

As I grew older, I carried along with me baggage. 

Each bag had a different boy

Or a different insult

Or stereotype

Or fear in it. 

The problem started when those bags stayed packed;

I never unpacked those bags

Because I don’t stay where I’m not wanted
.
The problem was that the bags wouldn’t allow me to see the places that I was wanted. 

They told me such places didn’t exist

my body shakes quakes and stirs for you atmosphere surrounding me like a thick blanket
I crave your touch and you can have all of mine if you want

when I stumbled upon your honey coated eyes,
they put a match to my heart and set it ablaze
and my soul couldn't sit still

boys are for touching skin that’s fresh and unexplored and making it theirs
boys are for their tongues that can seem to fit just about anywhere
boys are for those arms the size of tree branches that wrap you up and hold you tighter than handcuffs
boys are for deep voices that send ripples more like earthquakes through your body that let you know who’s there
this is what my sister told me in a note she wrote before she left with one
but she left out a couple things that I’m sure she wasn’t aware of at the time
like how boys are good for scars all over your wrist
and how boys are good at using words that break you down like a wrecking ball to a brick wall
and how boys are great at turning your small work upside down, destroying everything in their path, including you, and leaving without so much as a goodbye.

jumping off of a tall building

that feeling watching the ground inch closer
and closer

knowing that the moment you hit that brown and gray pavement, 

it will be the end of you,

but never hitting it. 

that’s what loving you was like

In soon time, 
his name will be as quiet as a whisper in your mind instead of blaring loud like a concert speaker 
and the ruins he left under your skin 
will be healed and they’ll stop crumbling 
and, sweetheart, your heart will beat at a regular pace.

Maybe I crave these destructive things with such furious intensity because I’m hoping they’ll destroy me so I won’t have to do it myself

like a cop out, if you may, so in the end my hands will be clean

and it’ll be the drugs who are to blame. 
My hands will be clean 
but my wrist won’t be,
and my veins will be filled with 60 MPH winds and toxic venom
and the longer they stay hidden,
the more I crave these destructive things.

it's dark all around me
and the air is too think for me to breathe.
even in the mornings, when the sun is high and the birds rejoice in song,
my world is dark.
it's like it takes over me
body and soul
and no one hears my scream or cries and pleas
all they seem to hear is "I'm fine"
but unless "fine" means losing sight of everything and everyone near you
unless "fine" means looking forward to a red ring around my bathtub every night
unless "fine" means feeling absolutely nothing
then I am not fine.