I love the idea of being held,
The thought of a man wrapping his arms around me,
Protecting me from the world,
The thought that I don't have to do this on my own,
But here I am, on my own.

Not that any of the guys I've dated have been like that,
I was a safe harbor for them,
Them less so for me,
I tried to take care of them,
But I never was a priority,
Never quite important enough to be put first.

All I want is to feel important,
Like I am all he needs,
Like I'm his entire universe,
Like I am all he sees,
And I know that's a lot to ask for,
Unrealistic, really.

Is it unrealistic to ask for flowers?
For no other reason than because he cares,
For him to open doors for me,
To run his fingers through my hair,
For him to kiss me in public,
'Cause I'm his and he's mine,
For him to tell me that he loves me,
And for me to see it in his eyes,
For him to remember little things about me,
Like the story behind my name,
Or for him to open up to me,
So that I can share his pain.

Is it unrealistic to want him to hold me?
And tell me that everything will be alright,
To have a safe harbor that's wholly and completely mine,
For him to be reliable,
My rock in a stormy sea,
For him to be strong,
For him to be strong for me.

Is it unrealistic to want to feel important,
All the time?
To feel safe, and loved, and unafraid,
To stop re-breaking this heart of mine.

All I want, when he wraps his arms around me,
Is to feel like I am home,
To feel like I can face anything,
Cause I'm not facing it alone.

I'm tired of having to be strong,
Tired of feeling so weak,
I need him to be strong,
To be strong for me,
Not all the time,
Just when I'm splintering.

I want him to wrap me in his arms,
And bury his face in my hair,
To hold me in his arms,
Like he needs me the way I need to be there.

I love the idea of being held.

Little one,
My precious one,
What now have you gone and wrought?
What is the fruit of the toils,
Of all the trouble you've sought?

Little one,
My dearest one,
You've gone and ran so far,
Won't you stop running and come here?
Come rest here in my arms.

If my life was a book,
What genre would it be?
I don't think there's a genre for lonely,
Not lonely from other people,
But lonely from myself,

But that's not me,
Not constantly,
There are just days the sun shines,
And the rays seem to miss my face,

It wouldn't be a tragedy,
Even though there are days I think it could be,
I don't believe that my life is tragic,
Tragic things just happen sometimes,

I wouldn't call it a comedy,
No matter how much I'd like for it to be,
I can't imagine how easy it would be,
To only have to laugh,

If this is supposed to be a romance,
The author is doing a **** poor job,
I can't think of anything less romantic,
Then the way that boys have treated me,

But I know life's not that simple,
To be pinned down by just one word,
It leaves the good things or the bad things,
One or the other gets left unheard,

Life is complex and stories,
So many things have happened to me,
There are so many things that I've been,
So many things I want to be,

If my life was book,
The genre wouldn't matter to me,
The important question is,
Would it be a book worth reading?

I don't know how to write this down,
What words are there for the longing
felt by a nineteen year old girl sitting on her bed
staring out the window at 1:30 in the morning
after finishing Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time?

What words can express the burning desire
for something she's never had,
nor is likely to have,
that grips her heart and freezes her brain
as she stares out the darkened window?

Part of me wants to make it poetry,
Silver beams,
Fall through the branches of the tree,
And wash over my face,
Like the tears my heart cannot conjure,
Strangely empty, it seems,
Is the sky,
Apart from those silver beams,
And my soul is still and quiet,
But anxious and impatient,
And for what I know not,

But even poetry is insufficient,
No pretty turn of phrase can encompass the simultaneous
swelling and crushing and binding and breaking and burning of my heart
as I stared at what little moonlight filtered through the leaves,
The house around me, deafeningly quiet,
Like a living tomb that entraps me,

What restlessness is this,
And what is it's end?

I danced in the living room,
There wasn't any music, just light,
And this sweet pervasive feeling,
That everything would be alright,

I had almost forgot what it felt like,
For everything to just be okay,
For the sun to rise and not see me cry,
And set the exact same way,

I danced in the living room,
And no was around to see,
The way I spun and twirled and danced,
Was completely and unabashedly me,

I almost forgot who that girl was,
Who calls my body home,
She's spent all this time aching to get out,
And I wish that I had known,

I danced in the living room,
Until I lost all that light,
But I held onto that feeling,
That everything would be alright.

I danced in the kitchen last night,
There wasn't any music,
There was just me,

And the TV,

And the feeling that I was free,

Like my body lost its borders,
Like I forgot what it was to fear,
Like for once in my life,
I was real and alive and here,

I danced in the kitchen last night,
In a noisy house,
All on my own,

And for once in my life,
I felt like my body was my home,

I want to bottle up that feeling,
That I am all I need,

I want to capture that feeling,
That God cut my strings and I was freed,

I danced in the kitchen last night,
And I don't know if I will again,
But dancing in the kitchen,
Felt like a beginning,
Not an end.

You'll never win homecoming queen,
And you'll be ok with it,
Until your grandma says,
'Oh sweetheart, you were never a homecoming queen type of girl.'
Cause that'll hurt.

You'll never win prom queen,
Cause popularity contests were never your thing,
And that's ok,
Cause you'll be valedictorian,
Top of your class,
Take names,
Kick ***,
***** what they think or say,
It doesn't matter.

You'll never be a beauty queen,
Until around the age of sixteen,
You finally realize that you're beautiful,
You'll have to figure that out on your own,
Because hearing it from yourself will mean more,
Than hearing it from anyone else.

You'll learn to be your own queen,
In every way that means anything,
You'll revolt against all the rulers of your body till you're the only one left,
The ****** rebellion of your youth will yield a prosperous reign on your terms,
So stick to your guns,
You queen,
I know what it means to be a girl like me,
To be a queen,
Only.

There are days when my pride,
Rears its head against the image,
Of me in ten years, a settled house wife,
A child on one hip,
My hand on the other,
Spectacled eyes surveying a yard that hold more children,
And a dog,
Or two,
Turning back to answer the call of an oven full of chocolate chip cookies,
In a house bought specifically to house these children,

There are days my wild spirit,
Balk at the thought of being tied to a house,
Especially one bought to specifically house children,
So that I cannot follow the winds and the whims that have always guided me,
So that my spontaneity will be molded into responsibility,
So that these hands that were made for writing will have no time to pick up a pen,

There are days my fickle heart,
Laughs at the notion of a little metal band,
Tying me to one man,
You see, I've never been good at commitment,
Heart breaker, name taker, I've been called them all,
Some of the names are less kind,
But my heart has always been mine,
I've never had the courage to give it to anybody else,

But when these parts of me grow tired,
When all they want is rest,
And my fickle heart beats softly in my chest,
I long for bright eyed children,
And a home and that one man,
For the call of a cookie filled oven,
For a wedding ring on my hand,

Being a poet is exhausting,
And being a fool is the same,
I am either one or the other,
Or both, both difficult to tame,
And some day I will grow weary,
Of being difficult and insane,
But I will never be done writing,
So I don't know that I'll ever change,

But I'll try to,
Whether or not I change my name,
Maybe I can take these two halves,
And make them one and the same,
One hand for holding children,
The other for holding a pen,

But then again,
This cycle may never end,

Because, there are days when my pride,

That little girl I used to be,
With an easy laugh and smile,
Her heart did not know heartbreak,
Tears did not dim her eyes,
Her skin was tan and freckled,
Her hair was bleached by the sun,
And she never did know a stranger,
And was frightened by no one.

She was reckless, brave, and witty,
With a sharp mind and a sharper tongue,
She always stayed up too late reading,
She couldn't leave a book till it was done,
She was quick to anger but quick to forgiving,
With a heart so full of love,
She was always far too giving,
And never thought to put herself before anyone,

Who killed her?

Who put the last straw on the back,
Of the camel that cast her aside?
Who caused that final tear,
To stain her soul with salty pride?
Who was the one who slit her throat,
And left her in a ditch to die?
Who killed the little girl,
Who's name used to be mine?

Let me go gentle into that good night,
Old age has pushed me to the end of my day,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.

Wise men, at their end, know that dark is right,
I know my words have forked no lightning in the sky
But let me go gentle into that good night.

Goodly I, the last wave by, seeing how bright
My past little deeds have danced in the green bay,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.

Wildly I caught and sang the sun in its glorious flight,
And learned to rejoice, not grieve it on its way,
Let me go gentle into that good night.

I lay, near death, yet see with blinding sight
Young eyes that blaze like meteors and be gay,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.

And now, I sit, there on this sad height,
Sing, bless me now with your sweet tears, I pray.
Let me go gentle into that good night.
Softly, softly, into that golden light.

Once upon a time, I loved you,
But there was no happy end,
We parted painfully, as strangers,
Who claimed to once be friends,
But we both knew better,
We know that hearts,
They break, not bend,
And as for you and me,
There could be no happy end.

Would you hurt me?
If I asked you,
Would you tear my heart to shreds?

Would you love me?
Then leave me empty,
And broken in my bed?

Would you lie to me?
But prettily,
So the pain would turn to beauty in my head?

Would you hurt me?
If I loved you,
Tear up my heart, even if it was yours?

Would you love me?
And leave me broken,
On some lonely distant shore?

You lie to me,
But prettily,
What else could a poet ask for?

People see me,
And they see,
A losing battle,
Or so I think,

People see me,
And they see,
What once could've been a masterpiece,
Now shattering,
Or so I think,

People see me,
And they see,
A fool in wise man's clothing,
Or so I think,

I could be wrong.

I see with my eyes,
Critical eyes that cut through the lies that I tell myself daily,

I don't have 20/20 vision,
But my eyes slice through with precision,
All the walls I've built to hide behind,

I know my own mind,
Too well to begin to pass judgement,

Maybe you have different eyes,
That look at me and see clear skies,
And spring and new beginnings,

Or perhaps in me you see,
The vastness of a salty sea,
Or the violence of a hurricane,
In its spinning,

Yet in me,
There may only be,
A sort of everyday plainness,
And nothing particularly exciting,

I could be wrong.

I can only write what my eyes see.

One upon a time love burnt me,
Laying in the chest of a boy who hurt me,

Another time, love marred me,
Riding on the back of a boy who scarred me,

Another time, love as kind,
Hidden in the smile of a boy who would never be mine,

And then love was dreary,
Having left me broken, battered, and weary,

But a fifth time, love was quiet,
So soft I couldn't deny it,

My battered heart won out over my mind,
And in time I realized, I could see in his eyes,

Whatever I had felt before,
Love had only come around the fifth time.

And Jesus wept,
So why can't I?
My father told me,
'Hallie, it does you no good to cry.'
But I want to,

I want to let the tears spill from my eyes,
Feel the salt on my cheek as they dry,
Because living is a sad business sometimes,
And I feel better when I let it out,

I want to cry like I want to scream and shout,
Like I want to lay my heart out,
In the middle of a four lane highway,
Cause if I'm gonna go out I'm gonna go out my way,
Screaming, and crying,

I get so tired of trying,
But I haven't stopped yet,
And in a life where I find pleasure in crying,
I think that's the best I'm gonna get,

Jesus wept,
And so will I,
And so will you,
Sometimes,
It feels good to cry.

What is it like to be free?
I guess I'll never know,
There's always one thing or another,
Tying me to home,

I never will be free,
This much I know,
But if I'd want to be,
That I don't know.

The red dirt runs like blood through my veins,
The wind that fills my lungs rattles window panes,
I am the product of calloused hands and all that they have made,
I am Texas,

I reflect the barren beauty of my home,
I write down wisdom only grandmothers know,
I live on the sweat of my father's brow, a man who reaps what he sows,
I am Texas,

My voice is the hymn the church goers sing,
Whether or not they believe in what the Lord will bring,
For love or loss or redemption or rain we sing,
I am Texas,

I have seen the fires burn the open plains,
And scattered dirt, like their ashes, over freshly dug graves,
And seen new growth take both their place,
I am Texas,

I have gone from clear skies to rain,
I have cried out, like rolling thunder, in pain,
I have struck out like lightning in blinding rage,
I am Texas,

But my love has bloomed like bluebonnets in the spring,
I have spoken as sweetly as the mockingbird sings,
My touch has been as soft as the whitest cotton you've seen,
I am Texas.

I could stand here and count the number of days I've wanted to die,
But what good would that do anybody?
No one here has felt anything less,
Than the deepest depths of pain the human spirit is capable of,
So instead of death,
Let me speak of love.

Not love for myself,
Or love others have had for me,
But a love of the moon and the stars and the sea,
The type of love oxygen makes to your body when you breathe,
And that breath keeps you living,
And I know there's pain in giving,
But the CO2 you let out when you breathe,
Is soaked up so sweetly by the plants and their leaves,
It loves them, the same way oxygen loves you and me,
And with this cycle of love, the world keeps spinning,
And with every breath, we keep living,
And though we take, we keep giving,
Because within you and me is the most basic kind of love,
The Love of Living.

Looking at you is like looking at sunlight through the trees,
The way the golden beams filter through the leaves is like your smile,
Would you stay here for a while,
And make my skies as blue as your eyes?

Holding you is like being complete,
Like my arms around your waist is the last puzzle piece,
So would you stay here with me,
Till I forget what it felt like to be empty?

Hearing your laugh is like a melody,
The sweetest song ever sung to me,
Would you laugh again, please,
So I can memorize every note of this symphony?

You are a masterpiece,
Every part crafted perfectly,
From your sky blue eyes to your golden heart that lies,
So sweetly in your chest,

Where I want to lie,
When I'm craving rest,
'Cause the best place in the world,
Is next to you.

Oh I would wait,
You know I would,
Until the end of time,

Until all was gone,
Even the dust,
And then you would be mine,

We would float in the great black nothing,
The only things at all,
With no fear of falling,
Because there’s nowhere to fall,

I’d give you my heart,
It’d be mine to give,
It would only be yours,

We would be together,
From then on,
Infinitely, now into forever.

But we will both end,
Long before time,
And as much as it hurts,
You’ll never be mine,

So I cannot wait,
And neither can you,
For some impossible future,

So please let me go,
I’ll let you go too,
And stop pulling at these sutures,

Time may not heal,
But it will ease,
So I’m asking you now,
I’m begging you, please,

Because I would wait.

Restless, restless,
My soul is restless,
But my body is too tired to move.

He was beautiful in a broken way.

Much like a craftsman artfully distresses wood,
Life had artfully distressed his soul.

My Instagram and Twitter bios read,
‘Your friendly neighborhood garbage can,’
Maybe it’s because I'm afraid to be human,
Because being human means being somebody,
And being somebody means needing somebody,
Because no man is an island,
Therefore, if I am a can,
Specifically of garbage,
Then its ok to be alone,

Lately being alone is like being home,
An empty house full of empty rooms,
A place that I’ll be leaving soon,
Because just like this house,
Being alone can’t last forever,
Because everybody says that things get better,
And whether or not that's true is still up for debate,

And to every friend I’ve ever told that I am worth nothing,
I’m sorry for lying,
The truth is,
I’m scared of the truth,
If I admit that I’m worth something,
Then all the sudden this nothing becomes something,
Expectations, aspirations, goals for me to reach,
That I fear I never will,
I’m short you see,
And I’m only seventeen,
Yet it still feels like the world’s weight is on me,
Like I have to carry my family,
And I don’t understand why,

I’m still a child,
I still have a while,
To decide who I want to be,
Why does it feel like I need to know immediately?
Mom, I don’t want to be a lawyer,
But a poet’s paycheck won’t put you in a retirement home,

I’m on my last leg at seventeen,
I’m drowning in a sea of life,
I can barely breath,
And I am a child,
And honestly,
A child is all I ever wanted to be.

So past me,
I’m sorry for growing up.

How do I describe what I'm feeling,
When words just can't explain,

How do I make you understand this sensation,
This feeling that has no name,

It's like standing in the eye of a hurricane,
Stood firm on the wind whipped sea,

It's like walking around while you're drowning,
And everyone thinking you can breathe,

It's like living in constant silence,
Mute, unable to scream,

It's like running from something terrible, invisible,
Trapped in endless looping, always running, never free,

It's like when you're bent on writing,
But the words aren't coming, stifled, trapped beneath,

I'd call it desperation,
But that doesn't sound right to me,

All this happens while I'm still living,
While the world around me's still moving,

The storm hides behind my smile,
It doesn't look forces but it is,

All this glorious chaos,
All this madness that I hid,

It's all starting to boil over,
Over the sides of the ***, from underneath the lid,

And I'm trying to contain it,
And maybe that's what it is,

It's part of me, it craves freedom,
That would only make sense,

But I'm not ready to give it freedom,
No, not like this,

It's a beast, and honestly, it scares me,
What happens if it gets too strong? too big?

But maybe there's nothing for me to fear,
Maybe it's just me,

So maybe that's what I'm feeling,
That's what I am,

Afraid of me.

Oh poetry, how serious,
It doesn’t have to be,
It can be light & airy,
As noon time in the spring,
No hidden plot or subtext,
No between the lines, just words.
About something simple & pretty
Like the singing of the birds.

He called it ‘fire water,’
He’s smart like that
My dad,

He made me afraid,
When I was small,
Of something I’d never had.

It was grown up stuff,
Not for me,
I was just a kid,

But I got curious,
About grown up stuff,
I bet you can guess what I did.

I drank that fire water,
& it burned
Just like he said.

I drank it,
That fire water
& it went straight to my head.

But it didn’t make me a grown up,
Not really,
I’m still just a kid

But it gave me a taste for poison,
Burning stuff in which I hid,
That’s what it did.

You were different than the others,
You weren't whiskey,
You were ******,
And I was hooked.

I am an alcoholic,
It's part of who I am,
Addicted to fiery poison,
My destruction at my own hand.

Raise a glass,
Forget the past,
Forget your own **** name,

Fill your glass,
The time to stop's past,
It's time to forget the pain,

Empty that glass,
This bottle won't last,
But it'll numb the fear and the shame,

Hand on my glass,
Gone and away,
I mourn the day,
The Crown fell off the Royal.

You hurt me just like whiskey,
Your name burns my throat just the same,

I need you just like whiskey,
I'll trade them, pain for pain.

The sun's coming up,
And it's quiet outside,
And oh, I wish you were mine,

The crickets sing,
And the birds take wing,
As dawn chases out the night,

The clouds are painted,
The air is cool,
One star still shines, glittering white,

It's peaceful and perfect,
A moment lost to time,
And still you sit, in the forefront of my mind,

The sun's coming up,
And it's quiet outside,
And oh, I wish you were mine.

There's nothing like a sunset,
That sets the sky ablaze,
But it's only there for a moment,
That beautiful fiery haze,

The sun in its passing,
Sets fire to the sky,
But its beauty cannot last,
So it passes, by and by,

There are no two same sunsets,
Like there's no two same clouds in the sky,
So cherish every one of them,
Every sunset till you die,

Always see them with wonder,
With awe and open eyes,
Love each and every sunset,
That graces that western sky.

I wish you weren't afraid,
I wish you didn't have to be,
I wish the world were different,
Different so you could be free,

I wish that people were different,
More accepting, maybe,
That they were less narrow minded,
That  they could actually see,

You are so amazing,
So wonderful to me,
So good, and kind, and loving,
More than some people will ever be,

Who you love doesn't matter,
All that matters is that you love, really,
And you have so much love in your heart,
I wish that you were free.

The girlchild was born as usual,
But detested dolls that did *** ***,
Made music with her miniature GE stoves and irons,
And crushed her wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy,
Then, in the rabble of puberty, a classmate said,
"You have a great big nose, and fat legs."

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
Possessed strong arms and back,
abundant ****** drive and manual dexterity,
She ran to and fro, not caring,
Who saw a fat nose on thick legs,

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle,
But her strength refused to wear out,
Did not run out on her,
Like some men did,
Who only saw a fat nose on thick legs,

She refused satin in her casket,
She would have no undertaker paint her silly,
With her strong nose and thick legs,
Dressed ever as plainly,
'She was beautiful,' those who knew her said,
Those who did not, could not understand,
That she was no Barbie Doll,
But a woman with a happy end.

I am not a puzzle,
Or cracked, like a broken window pane,
I am artwork, not a damsel,
And I feel it when I say my name,

The way the words roll off my tongue,
I am beauty,
I am strong,
I am invincible,

Those who pushed me aside,
Did not deserve the tears I cried.

Cause it's not my fault that they didn't realize,
That the fire in my eyes,
Could spill over and burn them,
That my words could hurt them,

That the lines written in my mind,
Could bring equal parts pleasure or pain,
So listen when I say my name,

It's a call to be seated for a show that's just beginning,
The anthem, before the first inning,

My name is the calm before the storm that is me,
So be seated,
Be ready.

I want to write something happy,
But honestly, I'm not sure how,
It's easier to write when I'm sad, or angry,
Easier than when I'm just ok, like now,

Right now I feel like stillness,
Like a quiet afternoon without a breeze,
Like a sweatshirt made of cotton,
Like a memory of salty seas,

I feel like something restful,
Like some great slumbering beast,
Like I'm looking to the horizon,
Waiting for the sun to break in the east.

I'm lost on things for writing,
My head is strangely empty of words,
I've wrote them all down,
For the moment,
I guess,
More will come though,
I suppose.

Floating,
                Flying,
                             Falling,

It's all the same to me.

Liking,
             Loving,
                           Longing,

There's no difference I can see.

Tell me a story, composer,
One that can't be told with words,
Give me grace and pain and happiness,
Give me joy like I've never heard,
Sing me your soul in the melodies,
In the notes as they pitch and roll,
Flood me in its awesome vastness,
Like the refrain is too much to control,
Wrap me in its beauty, covered without a word,
Set my mind to endless spinning,
Articulate as a song bird,
And though it seems like insight,
Into your heart and soul,
I know, the music is little more than a peephole,
A glimpse into something greater.

All you've got is problems,
Your 'friend' said this,
Your mom is lame,
You woke up late,
In your house,
In your bed,
And your hair just couldn't be tamed,
Your free education is stupid,
Who needs to use their brain?
You can't bring yourself to do something,
To try and make a change,
All you do is whine and whimper,
How lucky you are to be able to complain.