If our love is a fairy tale,
I wish for a happy ever after
Let the moonbeams spark in white
And turn the gloom into laughter

If our love is a fantasy,
Let me call you My King
Or my beloved angel
And let me stay under your wings

If our love is a written story
Let it be the greatest story ever told
It is you that I want to be with
Only you when I grow old

So if our love is a fairy tale
Let the tale ends with a perfect smile
Let our hearts be filled with joy
The time I walk through the aisle...

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

"Whenever you're stressed,
you internalize it to your gut"
my doctor told me.

My mother always said:
"You feel everything in your stomach."

And it all makes sense now,
How I got knots and twists,
when you said goodbye.
And how I got nauseous,
when I saw you holding her hand.

But if that's true,
why does my chest hurt so much?

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.