We were infants
Trying to stand
Trying to talk
Seeing the world for the first time.
Six months and we grew
Learning, discovering
Looking for purpose
But still stuck in our minds.
One year and we were children
Believing we knew
All there was to know
But still filled with wonder.
Finding the first sadness
Peace in companionship
Hope for the future
And somehow life inbetween.
Two years and we were adults
Each others' first
"Happy," used so often
"Love," thrown back and forth.
In the cracks, underneath
Darkness spilling
Pain and confusion
Joining but tearing.
Three years and we were dead
Hope gone, innocence lost
Liquid life had taken ours
And pain was all it left.

But I am not
I live. And I realize that
Love was something you never gave,
There was no we, only me
And we did not live, or love.
Rather, I did.
I do.

These words just come into my head
and flow out through my fingertips.
I'm struggling to write it all down
in between these **** rips.
Like waves crashing
it's overwhelming.
And when your head is full
it feels like drowning.
So pass it around
and come join me in the clouds.
Get a bird's eye view
on the storm, looking down.
The thicker the clouds, the clearer the mind.
Just make sure to open your eyes
Look all around you and take it all in.
Because it isn't too long before you're drowning again.

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.