I need to stop feeling so indifferent
I need to find a new hobby
I need to be a happier person
I need to let my emotions drown me

I need air
I need news
I need help
I need you

I need to stop crying when I look in the mirror
I need to stop thinking things are all fine
I need to face that simple cold truth
I need to remember you are no longer mine

I need air
I need news
I need love
But not from you

you're so precious;
a kiss on the cheek.
a comforting squeeze,
statement made while half asleep.

you're so precious;
arms wrapped around my head
to keep from falling off the edge
of your pitiful college twin size bed

you're so precious;
not quite an "I love you"
but with eyes bright and hair askew,
I know you mean it. I know you do.

It's a blessing and a curse
To be nothing
Nothings better, nothings worse
Than being nothing.
Those pretty bruises on your neck
Keep my wild hopes in check,
Every time you return,
I mean nothing.
                                     ...and
It's a horrible game,
Meaning something.
Fleeting feelings always change
Yet theres something.
The way you look into my eyes
Under those endless starry skies.
I'll never really know
If we're something.

i guess that's all i'll ever be to you.
and im alright with that.

but sometimes i wish you could see my smile
when you play ukulele over the phone.
and i wish you knew how the memory
of your hands in mine
helps me sleep a little better at night.
and that i feel a little less lonely when
i listen to the songs you write.

but i am a homie of the highest degree
and yeah sometimes it hurts,
but its okay with me.

that's me.
         i'm the idiot.

the one that's always assuming
my sentiment is returned

the one that's always hoping
in vain, just to get burned.

it's me.
         i'm an idiot.

it was a lovely song, really.
i always knew it was about her.

but even a little part of me
broke a little more when you confirmed.

it's only me.
          i'm The Idiot.

then i gave you the coordinates
of my only safe space

i trusted you with the knowledge
that here i lose face.

and that was my biggest mistake.

                 look at me.
                 look at my poetry.

and tell me
             i'm not the idiot.

The aching in my chest hasn’t left
Since you texted me
That you were leaving.
                         I stood in the grocery store
                        And cried as I read the words
                        Hovering above your head.
I lost myself that night.
Told you I was fine,
But i spent the rest of my time
In those two days after
Trying to get you
Out of my mind.
                         It didn't really work.
Sleeping used to be easy.
Every night, i’d see you,
And in the morning I’d cry.
                         In a week,
                         I stopped wanting to sleep.
The only thing
That helped me drift
Was listening to your music.
Pretending it was written
For me.
                        A month and ten days.
When I last saw you
Guitar in hand
Head swaying to the tunes,
                        I wish I had gotten to at least
                        Say goodbye.
I didn't know
It was going to be
Six months
Until I’d be with you again.

                        I miss you.

Bumblebee
Blue, and cold.
He stares up from his perch
of raspberry and goji rose--
the neck of his resting place
hooked between my fingers, swinging.
Back,
And forth.
Back and Forth.
The rhythm of my stride
In time with his dance,
And entire existence suspended
Within the fringe of my hand.
Yet I trip,
I slip and his world
Shatters--
Glinting, Indigo, and
tattered.

Why must you
Be like this?
Why cant I
Ever know where
You are?
Why do I
Miss you so
Viciously?
Really, you
are just a
Daydream.
Ideal, desired,
Unattainable.
Nothing more,
No
Thing
Less.

Asleep on my arm
Soft,
Small and precious.
Please
Lean your body against mine
Press your elbow
Into my side.
Sleep--
Calm,
Comfortable,
And cool.
Eyelids,
Smooth and fluttered shut.
Yet make me
Calm,
Comfortable--
A fool.

Usually there is elation
When I see your name
On my screen.
Excitement!
Anticipation.
Just from one
Notification,

But tonight.
         There was
                       a crack
in my conscience.
And I missed you
So bad
That when your name
                appeared,
I left it alone.
In hope that it would
                    make you feel
Just as lonely
As you left me tonight.

silly girl.
     silly
        silly
            silly
                             girl.

the only one you're
making feel
                   anything
is
      yourself,
and you're just
                          lonely;

all over again.

where are you
where are you
where are you?
                              Not here.
please come back,
I miss you, but
would never
                               say.
your presence; I've
become addicted
to your presence.
                               where?
a five minute walk
north of where I
sit in this minute.
                               you?
please just return
your face, your smile
your voice, warmth
                               are.

poetry
      in my heart:
Singing just for you.
       I was
waiting
      just for you
But you haven't come
       and I wish
    I could just
Have your head on
  my shoulder one
       more time.
   in the dark,
two nights after
      you told me that
               you felt,
you were confused.
     The way you look at me,
and I you,
        makes me feel seen.
Studying the stars--
       tell me about music
    explain the function
  crack your ankles
laugh at me, though your eyes
       gasps at basketball dunks
   hum along to boy pablo
while playing computer games
   right next to me
philosophize until 7 am
          hands in pockets,
     knees angled toward each other
               falling asleep.
       Sun rise.
    tired smiles
all of the little
    things that say
         I care,
      I care,
        I care.
   until my body aches
with the fact that
      in your eyes
I see eternity
   and it terrifies me.

Simply put
You are very lovely
And often times
Put my mind at ease.
And I think that I
Love that about you.

Stable
If you imagine the embodiment of stable
He is stable
He is sure. And honest. And shy.
And competitive. And saucy. And kind.
He is warm and inviting. And i feel as if
He has opened his heart to me.  

The one
that turned my head
from the road i was
blazing down
alone, and unafraid.

then you came,
unexpected,
and ripped away my blindfold.
no longer was i raging towards my own destruction
on a path
that i forced myself down,
cutting through unmanageable terrain.

and i look over,
and youre there.
have you ever tried to run through knee deep snow?
or to sprint against the outgoing tide?
everything dragging against your progress,
yet still you push.
out of pure will power.
pure defiance.

and i ran. and ran.
i tried to get as far away from feelings as i could.
go. go. go.
no boys. no breaks.
no pain, and no pressure.
but here you came along
and stole my peace.
but really.
all you did was bring peace.
since youve been around
im much slower.
much more balanced.

and i dont think i love you. but
i really want to say I do.
Love is a scary thing.
I am terrified. I am terrified and all I want is you.
I am so scared, and all I want is you.

Again,
a case of everything I want.
but really something I dont need.
And its not as chaotic as last time.

you are the land
in correspondence to my sea.

I push, and pull and rage
against the idea of you
but still you stand.

stable. warm, inviting.
and no matter how my chaos
wrecks the other things that come towards me
the way my anger and sadness
swallows nations in their waves,

you remain.

and when i am lost
in that expansive sea
and all sides, walls of water surround me
threatening to overrtake me
I cower amidst the crashing
and the clamor of their voices
are all i can hear.
there is a weight in my lungs
as i cling to my raft
but i know if i slip
down is the only direction i will go.
and my eyes can hardly open
flashes of foam and darkness meet my eyelashes
as the wind slaps me with her salty tears
that she has torn away from the sea itself.
and gutteral noises claw their way out of my throat
mourning, wails of what can only be described as anguish
shudder through my entire being.
and my soul aches for you
i squeeze my eyes shut in hopes of escaping this hell
white knuckilng my driftwood raft.
being torn apart, as the waves taunt my demise.
what a peace i could meet if i were to just--
let go.
and fall beneath the chaos of the surface,
through the furious tumult of currents below.
into the glassy depths that stare out at me.
and still my delicate balance screams
dont do it.
still the thought of your peace whispers
you'll get through it.
but the walls are too high,
and a canyon of water seperates me from you
and refuses to abate.
cries of pain, swallowed by the greedy shouts of the waves.
and i am tired.
I clutch my plank once more
inhale deep,
and let go.

and fall below.

being at peace
is something
that is more difficult
than I would have imagined.

peace
actually requires
a lot of work.

feelings fight
in my mind,
encouraging me
to just stay
where I am
and struggle through
what im experiencing
to wallow in it
let it consume me
until it rips me apart--
but no.

i will not allow it.

it's truly Art:
the crafty way in
which you made me fall
so desperately in Love with you,
the way you knitted the strings
of my heart into careful knots,
that even with Time and
Patience and Healing,
they have not yet
come undone.

it was so Clever
when you stole my
Reason, and Clarity, and
Peace, and sense of self Worth.
when you made me feel so special
in turn to only make me feel so
Unwanted. Unnecessary.
and so very Unloved.

and it was so Charming
when you brought me flowers
and thought that I was going to stay,
even after how you made me feel like
I was nothing more than Disposable.
after you left me Alone on that
day I should never have
been remotely Lonely.
You truly thought
that I'd stay?

how Naive of you
to  believe  that  you
had  that  much  sway
over my Sad Little Heart.
you really did, but
I would never
admit that
after we
split, I
Cried.

All
Night.

I wrote you a poem
That you asked to read,
And I said
Maybe Someday
But i never let you
Anywhere near it.

I wrote you 37 poems.
And You only ever
Knew of one.
And You forgot
I even wrote it.
And I have forgotten what it said.
But five months later
I still fear it.

Crunchy, Bitter, sour, sharp, simmering.

Luminescent, iridescent,
Shiny, sparkling, shimmering,
Glitzy, glimmering, glittering

Garbage.

As winter faded, you faded away
And I floated away from you
Bright colors of spring against rainy grey;
Tearing my conscience in two.

The seasons, they whisper of change
But the hearts, they long to stay same.

Mellow adobe brick roofs
Lost in a sea of bleached blue;
The wind in the willow leaves blew
As I floated away from you.

All of the branches, they sway
Slow to a lullaby’s tune
As winter faded, you faded away
And the wind whisked me away too.

The seasons, they whisper of change
But the hearts, they long to stay same.

Crumbling adobe brick roofs
Drown in a sea of bleached blue;
On the wind, the willow leaves flew
And they tore me away from you.

you are so cool
writing poems that dont rhyme
with imagery
hyperbole
and similie
to tell perople whjat your terrible life is like.

The sun was fading, that day.
I was folding laundry. It was winter? A winter sunset.
Chilly blue sky, highlighted with bits of faint, warm, coral clouds.
And i sat on the biting granite counter, nestled in cottony heaps
Cuddling with shirts and sweaters; simply feeling.
Perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

Everything was glazed peach;
everything is okay.
Everything was okay, and everything will be okay.
Even with the moments of the not-okay,
the ones that plague us during the
In-betweens,
We find our okay.
And perched in the laundry nook,
I knew things without knowing them.

It swam through my arteries, gifting life to each cell
Within my cell of drywall and tile.
And with everything,
I loved you.
And with everything,
After all of the not-okay.
Sometimes i still find myself feeling
That love.

it creeps in through the corners
through the places where walls and ceiling meet
where the floorboards creak
and drafts of icy breath stroke your neck.

it creeps up through the carpet
through the the places where rugs cover the old oak floors
where grandmother's crocheted mat is getting worn
and little dusties hide from the harsh daylight.

it crawls out from inbetween your teeth
between the lips and tongue and the molars that fell out
and now the dry, empty cavity of your mouth
hangs sallow and barren.

There have been enough poems written about love.
And plenty more written about heartbreak.
I have indulged in the composition of both,
Roped into a reckless dance with the whipping wind
and the insanity of the heart's desires.
While engulfed in my emotional fires,
I have never felt so cold as I do now.
Poems about love, poems about heartbreak,
I drink them in and regurgitate the meaningless words.
Beauty: colorful, soft, bright, airy, ephemeral, blissful.
Batting of the eyelashes, scintilliance of the mind.
Pain: sharp, dark, throbbing, unforgiving and relentless.
Collapsing of the lungs, aching of the soul.
These are the empty images, sensory details that crowd
the screen and saturate the dreamy, inspired writer.
Those that love the hardest
Shatter in the most violent manner.
I am sick of a community
Founded on toxic vulnerability.

I'm mad.
Angry.
Why wont you
Respond to me?
All I've done is support you;
All you do is ignore me.
Is my anger justified?
Probably...

not.

He feels like sharing memes and finishing burritos; like snuggling on a bench when I'm shivering and letting me wear his jacket the wrong way. He feels like long phone calls and sarcastic remarks; like feeding ducks, and helping kids, and going kart racing, and being terrible at Mario kart. He feels like silly puns and bad humor, all the while still putting butterflies in my stomach. He feels like the heat in my cheeks when my classmates ask me about where my bracelets came from, and the pride in my heart when they say that he's cute. He feels like kissing in a park, holding hands next to fireworks,  and giggling at the movies. He feels like sunshine and Rex Orange County. He feels like home, like someone who will always be able to make me smile, like someone who will endure a hug even if its awkward.

But he also feels like crying at 10pm in my room on Thanksgiving and clutching my chest because I can hardly breathe.  He is in every sad song I've ever heard, and every depressingly artful photo I see. He is the bittersweet memory of a lost young love, and the fractured, splintery aftermath of trying to recover. He is sitting in a park alone for an hour, crying because you dont know if he's even going to come.  He is the anxiety of being ignored for three weeks, then showing up to a party I'm at. He is the tear stained pillowcase from every time he has asked, "are you a waste of my time?" -- each one a separate fist to the stomach. He is the fear of never knowing what is going on in his mind and the constant worry of not being enough. He is the sadness and frustration of every Sunday morning with an empty chair. He is the moments I lie on the cold wood of my bedroom floor in the greying sunlight, salt mixing with my hair, and feeling empty. He is like the ache between my ribs everytime I'm left on read.

But he still feels like home, and he still feels like the only love I've ever known. And it's all about how it feels, right?  And it's okay as long as he doesn't hurt those feelings...

Right?

Little typing fingers
That should be tucked in bed
Are wide awake and nervous
Picking apart their head

Little twitching fingers
That should be staying still
Claw at all hair and clothing
Against an act of will

Little tapping fingers
That should be calm and cool
**** frantically across
Every desk at school

Little skipping fingers
That should control themselves
Find different ways to torment
Both the soul and shell

Little dancing fingers
That should pay their respects
Jump from their gloves and pockets
Tearing sequins from their dress

Little frozen fingers
That were never still before
Have found the cure to keep them
From freaking anymore

Broken pencil tips, scattered shavings peppering the floor.
Colored pencils with chewed ends and waxy bits fill my briefcase.
All business here, hard at work on the daily.
Would you like a portrait drawn of your personality lately?
Cracked skulls and broken bones, with hints of red paint splattered in the background.
Neon lights and smoke signals, deep green lakes shrouded in fog in the distance.
All of these things, piecing together a picture of your likeness.
And I sit with the tools of my trade, blades to sharpen my wooden spears as they tear across the canvas
The rubber bricks that scrape across the angry mistakes
But with innocence, sitting idly, doodling into oblivion.
The yellow plastic crayola briefcase holds 47 different stems used to brighten the darkness I paint of you.
Pipe cleaners and fake daisies litter the serious work with a simple joy, in unison with the sparkles and glitter.
Criss cross apple sauce on the floor, little pink screwdrivers and cerulean hammers spread about,
The aura of this portrait is coming out in the expressions carved into the palate you have given me.
Angry lines and foreboding greys and blood hues, and cool creeping colors that seep into your skin,
Crawl in juxtaposition to the bubbly universe outside the box.
Keep the anger and fear and sadness on the paper, keep the ugly and the bitter and the unsavory away.
In my briefcase, I only keep the tools.
The happy little helpers of art and beauty.
Please keep all the bad away.
Please keep all your mad away.
Please take your portrait and leave.
Thank you for your business.

I don't want your pretty words,
I don't want your charming eyes,
I don't want your smooth approach,
I don't want your blatant lies.
The truth is that I want it all,
Every single bit.
But the truth is that it's all a front,
And nothing ever fits.
I want to hear your small talk
I want to see your tears
I want to sit close at your side
I want to stay for years.
But the truth is that you're killing me,
Every single bit.
The truth is that I come running back,
Even after every hit.
I don't want to be hurt by you
I don't want to have to cry
I don't like the way you're treating me
But I'll love you until I die.
The truth is soon, I'll have to go,
And make the end of it.
But in truth, I still love your soul,
Every single bit.

Glossy lips, strawberry hued
Waiting for the car to come,
Waiting for a ride.

Maroon stripes, burgundy shoes
Waiting for the rain to come,
Waiting, cold, inside.

Warm hands, uncomfortable feet
Sitting in the liar's chair
Sitting all alone

Teary eyes, emblazoned cheeks
Sitting on the convict's chair
Sitting with my bones

The ringing in my ears hasn't left
And schrapnel and shards stick out from the rubble.
Rummaging, scrounging for a useful miracle
As my emotions have been wrenched into purposeless scraps
Heaped on the floor, like overworn rags.
I'm looking for pieces of him.
If I'm lucky, I'll dig up a fragment from the dust
And brush it off; rid it of soil and rust.
And I'll gaze... and stare... and wonder...
Then remember he doesn't care.
And the snippet of him I'd found in the dirt
Will crumble between my hands
And I'll try to scrape up what's left I can find,
But it's already swallowed by land.

This is how he'll disappear:
Slowly, then all together.
As I try to sweep up the grime of his absence,
and try to make myself better.

But the shrill screeching of knives
will shudder through my bones.
When I try to remember it's over,
I'll still rock in the corner alone.

Back and forth, back and forth,
Clutching my frail chest.
The dog's ribs are poking out,
And the cat bit a hole in my dress.

Oh, What a life to live,
Oh what glorious stress.
For even the fourth time he's broken my heart,
I always return to that mess.

I can't see outside
The thick lenses of my glasses
Clouded by the stupid heat
Of my stupid tears
Over a stupid boy.

You said you loved me
So why'd you leave me all alone?
And now I'm crying and writing
Words that dont even make sense.
I cant even call it a poem.

You inspired me.
Or did you really?
Maybe what inspired me was just
The idea of you; maybe it was just...
Who I wanted you to be.

But now I see you
And I see you clearly.

I dream of you at night;
You visit me alone.
I’d join you in the sky
If I weren’t a stone.

My heart is made of rock
Each limb is carved from lead
A single push could knock
The quartz eyes from my head

But you are like a flower
Basking in sun rays
You’re lighter every hour
At twilight, fly away.

I dream of you each night;
Your visits help atone
The sins that weigh me down
You chip away the stone

Angel of the garden,
Please grant me your pardon.

You, you are my healer,
Stitching my tattered limbs back together
So that you can rip them off again.

You, you are my dreamer,
Painting beautiful galaxies
And forcing me back to reality again.

You, you are my seeker,
Finding me, saving me, and fixing me
So you can leave me alone again.

I'm so sad
And I want to say I love you but I can't
Not when I think I am about to shatter
My hands are made of glass
And if you come any closer, they'll crack
My fingers are already brittle,
And I can't stop them from shaking
And it hurts, it hurts so bad
But it's nothing, I promise,
Everything's fine, I'm just a little sad.
My ears, they are tin
And noise echoes through them
And the sound is too loud
Everything is too loud,
Words enter the cavern between my ears
They come and stay for too long
And the black tar of every lie I’ve discovered,
Every betrayal, has stayed since that year.
And it hurts, it hurts so bad, they’re so loud,
But I’m just sad, nothing to worry about.
My head between my ears is about to burst.
But I’d like to smash it into a wall first,
Maybe a chair, a table, a desk,
They call to me, entice me,
Offering rest if  I could just...
Smash my porcelain head.
Crunch, crack, splinter,  
The  bone china pieces of my mind
Mingle about in shards on the ground
Sharp, glossy, polished pieces scattered about
But everything is so peaceful.
Finally…some quiet.
I look around with my singular eye,
The only thing left without a crack
Before I lower my lid and die.
Please sleep well,
This is my last “goodnight.”

I am sad
And my words have abandoned me
The force that once inspired greatness
has sapped all creativity out of me,
And i am left with fragments.
Worthless, bland, incomplete phrases,
that mean nothing to me or anyone else,
Are all that i can dream up and release.
I am sad, and i am stuck with no way to get rid of it.
No words fit.
They are metallic and clunky in my mouth,
shoving their way between my tongue and teeth,
they are braces on my emotions: painful, sharp, and wide,
Leaving a tinny aftertaste,
Smelling of copper and dirt.
They are not beautiful or sweet like the words that i once had.
They tumble gracelessly from my lips
and clatter onto the keyboard without rhyme.
I am sad,
and my cheeks are bulging,
Nonsense words fill my throat and nostrils.
Soon i will not be able to speak at all.

is crafty little two liners,
and nobody likes them anyway.

Today is a good day for creation. It is a mellow day.
The light filters through my window, soft and grey.
It is eleven thirty in the morning, not quite noon, but still hazy,
like it should be early.
Like nothing has happened yet, but something is coming.
Something good is going to happen.
I want to sit and sing and listen to music and create. Write. Paint.
Play music with my untalented hands.
I have the drive, that imagination, but i can't think of anything that fits in this time, so i am describing what i am feeling.
It is nothing special, but it is everything and anything special all at once.
A moment when i just want to lay down and look at the sky,
Lay on may back and stare at the clouds.
I get that feeling a lot. Mostly during spring.
But now it is autumn.
Perhaps it is a coping mechanism.
I want to be a great writer, but how can i be a great writer when nothing i write is great, or memorable, or organized?
I cant even produce decent prose when in a perfect environment.
And when i can't focus i just get caught up in my thoughts and i can't do anything about it and i am so...
I am so...

so nothing.
And nothing i ever write makes sense.

I teeter back and forth at your will,
Stuck in a limbo of who I should love.
Sometimes I want to kiss you so badly,
I want to hold you close to me,
Pull your shoulders into mine.
But I know that it can never happen.
Your heart belongs to someone else,
And mine is out for lease at the moment.
That one; I care for him so much,
But I will never be able to stop loving you.
Your eyes have the universe in them;
My life dances at the ends of your fingertips.
For so long, you have enchanted me,
And forever, we will remain in this limbo,
Waltzing intimately with despair,
As he and I have become quite close recently.
In the wake of the storms you bring me.

Do you ever look at the trees and think
About how
they wouldn’t be alive without the sun
Do you ever feel the breeze and think
About how
It wouldn’t exist without the sea?
I do.
And Every day i look in the mirror and think
About how
You’d probably be better off without me.

What is special about love?

When they don't care for you,
But they're all you can think of?

When you begin to think,
Am I not enough?

This is the love in which
You'd give your all for that person with every action,
The love where you care so deeply
But they only return a fraction,
and they just...

...kinda care.

It is the most painful form of love.
Worse than the unrequited.
Worse than the forbidden.

It is the not-enough.

The you-don't-measure-up.

Where the person you'd go to hell and back for
hardly notices when you're down.
Only slightly cares when you're not around.

The not-enough.

The why-do-you-care-so-much?

Where the person you'd stay up to listen to
Until your eyelids force themselves shut
Only listens when it is convenient for them too.
You may think they care too, but...

This is the not-enough,
Where you are never enough.

And this is love.

But it is destruction.

"He makes me smile."
Isn't that quite the statement?
The overly stated
Overrated
Label slapped on affection
For someone who makes a laugh.
But in what direction,
with what affection,
Does a mere smile
Lead a relationship
Into the future?
Will it go the miles required?
And are you sure
That smile
Will last the time
That you are together,
Even if it is forever?
Looking​ for potential mates
Perhaps it is important
To observe more traits
Than comedy
For longevity
You need more than just jokes.
Humor in no way means brevity,
Yet if it is the primary basis
For your affection
It is rash, dumb, and juvenile
Because he needs to care
That you deserve more
Than just a smile.

Most late summer days fade into night holding a tepid dreariness in their breath, beating away with the tedium of the sun from late July through early September.
Yet ephemeral as it may be, the life of early summer is purely sanguine in the face of its oncoming age, as willowy saplings sway in the blustering breezes of June, and sprouts of vivid animation appear all around.
This is when the soul heals, and out of the mulch rises new beginnings and the ripening fruit of various works.

In this early season of summer, many taciturn inhabitants of the flourishing earth made their home, and among them, Lily: a creature of reticence and intricacy.
She burgeoned in attitude and character as days crept forward, extending her limbs upwards in an eternal paean to the heavens― as such was her sinecure and quiet delight.

In this, she stood insular to her ubiquitous family, an outsider to the sisters who flitted about carelessly on the wind, satiny gowns of pink and yellow billowing as they twirled.
Always invited into the fray, Lily was evermore stalwart in her choice to keep out of their plainly sordid affairs.

Yet in her isolation, the night whispered to her many a berceuse.
The sleepy stars implored of Lily’s indolent nature as she gazed into their eyes, trailing across eternity into peaceful slumber.
The night sky held wonders and questions that filled her paltry existence but placed her in stasis with the decorated heavens of her dying season,
Left to wither away with the insidious heat and vibrant splendor of late summer evenings.

Of all the things you make me think of
I wouldn’t have imagined it to be the sky
I have fallen in love with your depths
But still admire your beauty from afar
I may never truly understand you
But i’ll try with all of my heart.


Another day, another song i’ve written for you
Another thought, another page,
Another journal entry or two.
Of all the beauty and wonder of the sky
Sometimes the clouds turn black
And they can't help but cry
For days on end, sometimes it will rain.
For days on end, I‘ll miss you again.


A laugh, a joke, a smile or two
Of all the jokes we have come to share
This biggest joke here is me.
The sky may not always be beautiful
But is wonderful beyond all that compares.
And while you’re not perfect
You’re way out of my league.
I don’t even know what you see in me.
But in you i see the sky
So im grateful that for now you’re my guy
And i guess you can call me your girl for a while.

To call it love already would be in haste.
But this feeling you give me is no mistake,
Although your eyes are glued to the ground
My head is stuck in the clouds.
You make my days unimaginably sunny,
And you make the most mundane statements funny
I don't know the origin of this feeling sublime
But it must come from knowing you're mine.
We're young and terrible at these things
But darling it's okay as long as we can dream.
I have no idea if these feelings will last
Because sometimes good things are gone fast
And you’re the best thing I’ve had in awhile
Everytime you cross my mind i can't help but smile
With a spring in my step everywhere i walk
People have told me i’m happier when i talk
You make me think of all the pretty things
Blue skies, green leaves, all in spring
Darling, you don’t see the way you affect me
But because of you i can be happy.

Were so similar
But were so different.
I like cheesy shows,
You kinda hate em.
I’m always busy
And you take it all slow
You have time to be bored or miss me;
I miss you because I’m on the go.
You stay stagnant
As I swing through highs and lows
In our behaviours,
We vary even more
You, relaxed, sass queen
Me, the girl that jibes for sport.
I'm loud and demanding
You're sometimes quiet
But when we're together
You're wild, and i like it
Baby were so different,
Can't you see?
But even with our clashing
You're the only one for me
Oh, we're not that different
As we seem,
Cause in what is important
We've got similarities
You love music
I love to sing
You love to dance,
And i love performing
I love to joke
You've called me mean
You're a bit older,
I'm still seventeen
You love skating,
So do i
You love the ground
And I'm in love with the sky
You love the day,
And i love the night
You love your mother,
Please hold her tight
I love the beach, you hate the sand
I hate the ocean,
But not if you hold my hand.

I don’t know, but
You seemed to
Actually
Care about me
About my state
Of being.

You were afraid for me
Do you love me?

I don’t love you,
yet.
I think i’d like to.

But thank you for
Actually caring
Because worrying
Is something
He’d never do.


Maybe he’d give me
An “aw, man that *****”
Or a “feel better soon”

Not an immediate
“oh f*ck
"what happened,
“Oh my god,
"Are you okay?”
He'd give me
No clear concern
No, “as long as you’re safe.”

Thank you for caring.
It helped me make my decision.
Thank you for caring.
it helped me actually listen
To what zoe had to say
And made me wonder
If it’s true that,

You know,

Maybe
it wouldn’t be
Such a bad thing
For me
to love you
If maybe
You love me too.

You are yellow,
And so am I.
Up in the powdered sky
We’re the color of the sun
The hue of lemon lollipops
The taste of summer and fun
The color of daisies
And the down of chicks
The aura of the 70’s
Like my favorite old kicks
In a mustard form:
Yellow, tattered, and torn.
So while the sky is dusty blue
And our faces are warm
Rosy cheeks and calico skies
Blue from after the rain had died
This yellow tints it all
Because yellow
Has made
Me fall.