Crumbling cities.
Beauty in decay has always reminded me
of you.
When we were little and climbing trees
you told me of ow you would be great
one day,
like Athens and Rome.
I had laughed and called you silly.
Those were places and not people, I had said.
You shoved your tongue out and clamored:
"Watch me do it!"
I think I finally understand what you meant.
Singing songs to me in my backyard you
were amazing, thriving like you had sworn
to me
those many years before.
We danced and screamed from hilltops
with cities unfolding beneath
our mere human feet.
You weren't kind of the world, but you were
king of mine.
Later that night you dropped me off
at my front door.
Kissed my forehead and murmured
"Goodbye, I love you"
instead of wishing me goodnight.
You fell in the time between night and dawn
and when I woke up the next morning
our empire was gone.

I read your body like a language
one I spoke so fluently
it could have been my native one.
Your eyes held codes I longed to decipher
and your mouth patterns
I wanted to trace.
I saw your skin like it was a map drawn just for me
every mole an indication
of where my lips were to travel next.
But you were still growing and soon you were out of my reach,
a new map replaced the old
and a new lover was found to match.

Three summers ago
I loved a boy
who's hair when moved
by wind or hand
was always magical,
who possessed tanned skin
and eyes so blue
they were waters to drown in.
Around him I felt enchanted
and he was enthralling.
He captivated me,
turned me into a slave of my emotions,
with words and promises
I knew he couldn't make come true.
"Run," my friends urged me, "as fast as you can."
But without him life was jaded,
their warning
had been voiced too late.
Already I had pricked my finger,
on a spinning wheel
and fallen head over heels
in that chemically induced slumber
we sometimes call love.
He opened a door for me that led straight
into a world filled with
bushes of roses
and buckets of sunshine,
I promptly forgot that too much sunshine
scalds the skin
and turns it a burning, vivid red,
almost as vivid
as the crimson blood
a touch from the thorns of roses draws.
I knew I had been warned so I stayed there
bleeding and burning,
swearing to myself as I suffered
that I would never again
give my heart to someone
who would not give me theirs in return.

This summer, three years later,
being around you
means feeling like being able to combust spontaneously
and I cannot forget
the sensation of my skin in contact with yours.
It made me realise
that though I have always loved you,
I started loving you a little bit too much.
You are my every thought.
They say you never make the same mistake twice,
that it is your own stupid fault the second time around.
But if it really was a choice
why then is it
that I spend all my nights these days
pleading with the universe
to let me unlove you.

snow falls
because snow does
what snow does best
so be like snow
and do
what you do best

I used to want poems, roses and someone
to profess their undying love for me on Valentine's day,
because I thought that was the very definition
of romance.
Some grand gesture
to sweep me off of my feet right towards the sunset,
but that's stupid, isn't it?
**** one sided affection from people who admire me from afar,
but have never once tried to speak to me
before this "holiday of love".
***** those who fell in love with their idea,
society's projection of me
rather than actually falling in love with me.
Because that isn't what love is.
I'm not some perfect girl with a sweet smile
who says hello to you in the hallways,
who will marry you and be home in time for dinner, always.
I was blessed with beauty, passion, rage
and sometimes even a little promiscuity.
You admire from a distance the sugary girl you meet,
but have no clue of the ***** in the sheets.
That's okay,
those parts of my personality are by no means meant
for everyone to know,
I doubt you would love me twice as much
if you were lucky enough to get to know twice as much about me.
None of this is romantic, no part of it is loving.
Come to me with a silly joke
and an offer of a good time,
forget everlasting love and growing up too fast.
There is a reason everyone is so reminiscent of their youth.

My friends always tell me I say no too often
to the boys who want me only for my body.
They say I don't know how to have fun.
But I remember all the boys before them
who called me beautiful when they grabbed my ****
but got furious and labelled me a ***** when I
took their hands off and rejected their advances.
I recall the boys who stared shamelessly at my *******
but called me a **** and all the adults
who told me it was my own fault for being promiscuous.
I think back
On all the times boys asked me
whether or not I was a ******,
as if they had the right to know.
On the numerous occasions a guy I didn't know
asked me to **** his ****,
as if that is the only thing I'm good for.
On every time boys called me
    
          a *****
                       a ****
                                 a *****
                                               or a ***** ******.

And when I do so I'm absolutely sure I want no part
of the fun my friends keep going on about.

Sometimes I think I'll never stop missing you
until the air around me is no longer mine to breathe.

Your birthday was last week.
I called but the line was dead, the number disconnected.
Should have been expected,
you simply cannot drag these things out forever.

I wanted to hear your voice, that's all.
You didn't leave me a whole lot to remember you by,
other than a couple of memories
but with winter nearing those are starting to wither.

If only you had given me a warning,
a shot at making life work without you,
it would have been much fairer, don't you think?

You could have pushed a little harder,
you were busy doing it anyway.
If you could do it all over again, would you still go
even knowing of all the broken hearts
you'd be leaving behind?

Some days when I gaze up at the stars
it occurs go me that the world
is made up from strings of wonders,
incredible little coincidences,
woven together as one.
I may never have loved myself
but in those moments,
when I see the world exactly as it is,
I can't help but appreciate
the endless webs of miracles
that helped create me.

Explore the wounds that were inflicted upon you.
Rip off those band aids you used to cover them up, tear them open
and remove all the dirt left behind in your flesh.
Keep them from rotting and festering,
prevent them from turning into new scars.
Then scream and curse
until your lungs are raw and keep screaming,
scream until all the negativity has left your system and you feel nothing but relieve.
Even the most fearful amongst us have a side that is fearless.
No more boxes, no more labels, no more strangers deciding who you are.
More explosions, more passion, more love.
Love for yourself, for who you are and what you do
because you are beautiful, intelligent and kind
and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise
shouldn’t ever be considered worth your time.
Honey, you are a goddess.
Instead of walking over you, people should quiver in your wrath
because how dare they mess with someone so powerful.
You read, you grow, you learn.
And though you will never be perfect you are getting pretty **** close.
Learn to be okay with the beating of your heart and the fact that you take up space.
Love the way you walk, you talk, you sing, you dance.
Accept that the only person who completes you is you.
You were born with two hands and a strong set of shoulders,
of course you can hold your world up on your own
and don’t fret when you drop a stitch, sweetheart,
it’s not the end of your life.
Pick it up and try again,
draw knowledge from the mistakes you’ve made.
Trust me, there are many more to come
but every time you will fall down
you’ll get back off of that cute little *** of yours
and back onto your pretty feet
and you will be stronger than you ever were before.