I let you slip through my fingers
Without thinking about the consequences
Here I am, missing you already
While someone else gets to call you baby and taste the words at the tip of your tongue
Is it too late to tell you that I'm sorry?
Is it too late to show I care about us?
I pushed you away but you had to have known how I felt about you
You had to have known that the care I held for you in me
Was so overwhelming that I just didn't know how to put it into words--so I never tried to.
But I did love you. I still love you
And I'm sorry that I feared your rejection so much that I never told you until we were through

you smelt of cigarette smoke too often
and you asked me what I believed in
I said I believe in the way
my knees shake when they hear your voice
I believe in the way babies cry
when they see life for the first time
I believe in the way the sun
always rises in the morning
and sets in the evening
I believe in the way
my stomach becomes
so twisted and tangled
when your eyes entwine
like ropes with mine
I believe in the way
soldiers are sometimes
at war with their own mind
I believe in the way my head
starts becoming dizzy when
you talk for a long time
I believe in sons and daughters
finding their mothers and fathers
in graves they've never seen  before
I believe in the art
of leaving
and
moving pain
for the night to come so it can
hit you in the morning  
I believe in my bones shivering
to hear your name again
I believe in the type of love that hurts
                                                        bre­aks
and                                                 bruises
everything you thought you needed
I believe in the stars and
how they just are
you smelt of cigarette smoke too often
and you asked me what I believed in  
I wasn't lying when I said you
                             -(k.s)

When you're 15
With a spotted face of acne
And a wild mane of curly hair
And boy who is two years older
And can drive
Tells you you are beautiful
You will let him touch you

When you're 15
And his fingers curl up your sides
Like spiders
You'll want to *****
But you will swallow the toxic insides
Of your stomach
And smile
He thinks you're beautiful

When you're 15
And its a week later
And you feel like something
Is dying inside of you
You won't tell anybody
This secret will die
With the thing inside of you
Remember, he thought you were beautiful

When you're 15
Your friends will invite you to a party
Where you'll take up cigarettes
You'll bite down on your tongue
And lock yourself in the bathroom
When they mention
The boy who thought you were beautiful

When you're 16
And you finally forget about
The boy who thought you were beautiful
A new boy will come along
He will think you're special

When you're 16
You will go to your first Homecoming dance
You will feel like you are
Drowning in your dress
Like you are choking on your perfume
And everyone's breath
But he will look at you
Like you are special

When you're 16
And he tells you
He likes you because no one notices
You are there
No one looks twice at you
You will realize
He never really thought you were special

When you're 16
And it's been over a year since
The boy who thought you were beautiful
Talked about you
Like you were meat
And two months
Since the boy who thought you were special
Has spoken to you
You will crush your cigarettes under your boot
Smash Mike's Hard Lemonade bottles
On the edges of the kitchen table
Open your wrists for the first time
In four years
Wake up in the morning
Covered in cat hair and pen marks

When you're 17
You will write a poem
A poem you'll only let strangers read

A post apocalyptic tongue
Weighing heavy and dormant in your mouth
As you hitchhike south,
Stopping only to say hello to the
Forget-me-nots
On the side of the road.
Your lips are chapped, dry.
One bite away from blood.
Your blonde hair snarls and snaps
Around your finger.
A Venus fly trap.
You are Venus.
A beautiful weapon of mass destruction.
You can start wars
With a face like that.
You spread your legs for
Boys who smell of wine.
You spread your legs for
Men with wallets fatter than their bellies.
You spread your legs for
Yourself because it feels good.
They brand you a sinner.
Construct a neon sign and
Point it at you.
You forget
Girls don’t do that.
And girls don’t drink
And girls don’t smoke
And girls don’t curse or kick or fight
Or hitchhike south
Or embrace their beauty
Or say hello to the forget-me-nots
On the side of the road
Or stumble home,
Wherever home is,
Drunk and reeking of
Cigarettes and ***** with
Last night’s lover still in their hair.
But you are not a girl.
You are Venus
And you are dangerous.
A bouquet of cries for help.
You sit in diners
With strangers and speak loudly of
Of rashes and scars.
You sit in ivory towers,
Knitting dresses and scratching
At the stone.
You stand on the sidelines
And snap your gum.
They tell you you can’t.
Your voice stings their eardrums.
Your voice is a thunderstorm.
You are a thunderstorm.
You are hitchhiking south with a
Hand full of forget-me-nots and
Blood rolling down your chin.
You are not a girl.
You are Venus.

Boys don't like girls like me

Boys don't like girls
With frizzy hair
And red velvet tongues

Boys don't like girls
Who wear heavy boots
And leather jackets a size too big
With pins pushed through the fabric
Declaring their beliefs
Like picket signs

Boys don't like girls
With outie belly buttons

Boys don't like girls
Who shop in the men's section
At thrift stores

Boys don't like girls
Who shut themselves in ivory towers
And refuse to let down their hair
Because they're too afraid

Boys don't like girls
Who talk to plants

Boys don't like girls
Who pick the pickles off
Of their cheeseburger because
They believe its the best part
And you always save the best for last

Boys don't like girls
Who carry trauma on their backs like boulders

Boys don't like girls
Who don't know how to kiss
Without leaving
Blood stains on your lips

Boys don't like girls
Who write love poems for themselves

Who practice archery and witchcraft
Because it makes them feel stronger

Who dance in their kitchen
To the music of popping popcorn

Who shy away from touch
Because to them it feels like acid

Who have stretch marks and cellulite

Who'd rather stay at home with the dog
Than go to that party

Who have ice in their soul

Boys don't like girls like me
And I'm trying to be ok with that

You have the beauty
That enflames the heart
And enchants the soul
Within, don't hide it

Society's standards
Are ridiculous
The media's portrayal
Of what beauty is biased
We spend out of our means
To wear such and such labels
Wear pounds of make-up,
Starve ourselves,
Because who we look in
The mirror is not what
We see on tv?

What is beauty?
Is it the texture of my hair?
Is it the hue of my skin?
Is it my ethnicity?
Is it my weight?
What is beauty?

Black is beautiful
White is beautiful
Hispanic is beautiful
Asian is beautiful
Bi/multi racial is beautiful
You're beautiful
We're beautiful
We don't need society's
Validation
No, we don't need to
Be deemed perfect by society
In actual fact, it's standards
Are unatainable
So why do we strive for
Something we know is
Only an illusion?

Do we realize the impact
That media has in shaping
The way the millennium
Generation
Thinks, and behaves?
We demand change,
But we're the same people
Tuning in to the same
Shows that we protest about

We've become so engulfed
In the world of entertainment
That the word has lost
Meaning itself
Heck, I'm 18
I'm guilty of this too
Entertainment is no longer
Just that- it's crotch grabbing,
Glorified drug, alcohol abuse
And yet, we wonder why
Majority of
My generation has no substance,
No depth, and no layers

We no longer aspire to be
The Obamas, the Ghandis,
The Mandelas and so on
No! That has long passed
The 'American Dream' has
Become Kim Kardashian
And Kanye West

In all honesty,
We are our surroundings
You want change?
Let's stop watching reality tv
Maybe then these networks
Will stop producing more trash
Let's instill morals
In our children
And help them discover
The fire that burns inside
Them, the beauty within

Mind melted on the kitchen floor.
Open the door and use it as a door mat.
I will join you,
and then I will join it.
Scrapped under shoes
separated throughout the world.
Which part is where?
Will it ever be whole?

A hollow body searches through a town that's changed.
And hasn't.
The weather changes as much as his moods.
And like the weather,
he wakes sunny
and falls cold.

I'm sorry I don't fully understand.
I'm sorry I'm scared.
I'm sorry I can't help.
I'm sorry all I want is your help.

And it was meant to be different.
Haven't been back a week,
and already I feel worse than when I left.

I take selfies from the chest up, positioning the camera in such a way that my fat arms don't look so fat.
Full body pictures? Are you stupid?
I've got enough meat on my bones to feed the hungry children of a third world country but
At least I have a "great personality"
As if personality is the first thing that people see when they see me. I know what they see
Lack of self control, heaping mounds of disgusting fat
My long sleeves serve two purposes
1. To hide the hurt that I need to release from my body through my wrists
2. To hide the stretch marks on my fat arms.
I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you can tell me to love myself when I know that you, yourself, can't find a single thing about this bloated anatomy to love
I am anxious about eating in public because I already look like I've had dinner for two with no room left for desert
I hug myself to cover my stomach when I sit, because that's when I can't really **** it in.
I'm fat.
So I don’t blame anyone for not seeing that I limit myself to one meal a day and that when I'm really feeling adventurous, I'll eat two and throw up the extra
My first and last real crush laughed in my face when I decided to say "*******, social anxiety!" and tell him that I liked him.
"Who knew fat people could feel anything but hungry?"
I wonder if he—or anyone, for that matter—cares that I can't look at myself in a mirror without criticizing every flaw
That I can't look at myself without crying
That I can't look at myself and name one physical thing I love about me because I don’t find that the phrase I am beautiful should ever be uttered by my lips unless the word not is in the middle.
I am not beautiful. **I am fat.

we fall in love
by unbuttoning jeans
and complaining of belts
being too tight
you never kiss
just watch
and later on you leave
without the goodbye
i was hoping for.
night after night
this becomes our routine
and i realize
i am tired
tired of the cold slapping me
while walking to your house
tired of being quiet
instead of outrageous
tired of conforming to this boring
act
you know nothing about me
except for the way your hands
fit around my tiny waist
and that i love your eyes
but you never look at me
like that
but i found her
she looked at me like that
and she touched me like that
and she kissed me like that
we havent spoken in so long
she is absent
from my grip
and her laugh haunts me
im growing and moving
on without the both of you
but i think this is what it is like
to be free
and to make the choices best for me