I’m picking myself this time.
Only because I’ve got a shortage
in this heart of mine
And somedays it feels like its beating
for other people.
When it should be working for this smile
that I’ve been faking for so long.
You’ll hate my decisions but
I’m sorry I’ve chosen my happiness
Over you.
Some days I’m still trying to find
Myself while being lost.
Some nights I’m still clinging to lost
Parts of you.
Daylight comes short when all I do is sleep.
This is another letter you won’t be getting.
Your secrets won’t leave my lips
Because you’re a memory
I’ll soon forget.
I used to write to remember
but lately I’ve been writing to forget… you

Dear Shakespeare,
Can you write me a happy ending, please?
I’m tired of broken promises and never fairytale endings. I’ve never seen endings quite like fairytale endings. With happy families wishing nothing more than to be together.
My family never comes together much these days unless it’s for a funeral.
We cover up problems with dark sunglasses because dad loves to shout really loud. Loud enough to make mom fall down the stairs and baby to slip in the bathtub. Loud enough to knock the lamps to the ground and the doors of their hinges.
I’m sick of lying. We don’t come around because we’re too busy anyway. In reality, we’re struggling because mom doesn’t have a job and dad spends all his money on liquor every day. We’re too busy living off bread and butter to worry about anything other than liquor these days and how much dad has drunken today.
He drinks a lot. Enough to make my name turn to everything but. Enough to turn my body into a moving target and that ******* belt into his crossbow. My body has felt too much like a target to treat it as anything other than that.
Mom says we’ll leave soon.
I’m tired of broken promises and never fairytale endings.
Dear Shakespeare,
Can you write me a happy ending, please?
I deserve a happy ending. Please.
Yours Truly, D <3

I have a dilemna
You see there’s this girl and
She’s so gorgeous
She’s so beautiful.
I love the way the light bounces
Off of her eyes
I love the wrinkles around her eyes
When she smiles.
I love her dimples.
She has two of them you know.
I love how I get butterflies when
I think about how she says name.
I get butterflies when I think about
how she likes to mess with my hair.
I get butterflies when she calls my name.
I get butterflies when I see her walk down the hallway.
I can’t stand to see her unhappy.
When she’s crying in the bathroom,
I want to tell her so bad that she’s beautiful
And I’ve spent so much time trying
To recreate the color of her eyes
When she smiles in the sun.
When she’s contemplating life,
I want to tell her,
the wrinkles around her eyes
when she smiles are far too precious
to live without.
I want to tell her I have tried a thousand times
To draw her coffee brown curls
That embody her soul.
She is just so beautiful.
I want to tell her,
No matter the mood, I will always love the way
Her eyes were always passionate when they turned upon
The things she adored most.
I want us to have a future together.
But she’ll think I’m weird
Because you’re not supposed to look
at your friends that way.
I guess I could consider myself lucky
To have someone as beautiful as her in my life,
That is if he loved me.

The stars used to shine brighter when I was with him.
Every time he spoke,
the world seemed to slow to a halt.
I remember as if it were yesterday,
falling asleep on his chest,
watching reruns of Fresh Prince.
I remember walking down the street
by the side of my house,
holding your hand as we talked about our future.
I also remember how I felt
when you told me you didn’t want me.
I remember how I stumbled backward
away from you when you told me
I had too many issues.
Has your heart ever hurt so much, you felt physical pain?
Every time I think of your arms wrapped around my waist,
I am submerged with this overwhelming feeling of guilt.
Like I was the cause of our downfall.
Now,
of course I realize I was.
Now I choose to stand on the opposite side of the wall.
Away from everyone,
so I can’t get hurt.
Again.
I do not like love.  
Yes, it’s a beautiful thing,
but it hurts too badly when it goes wrong.

When my mother asks how the world's treating me,
I reply ‘good’,
even if it’s not the truth.
It is as if the words are branded
at the back of my throat
and as much as I want them to go away,
they have become a part of me.
Forcing me to lie.
Of course,
I’ve never been good at lying
but certainly the only way to lie well, is to do it often.

There is girl
who is as beautiful as the sun
has hair the color of autumn
her skin ever so flawless as it was.
Today someone called her a name
I won't even say,
because it's that bad.
She crys her heart out
on the bathroom floor
and I want to comfort her
and tell that she was beautiful
I want to tell her
that I have spent an eternity
praying that she would notice me
but that would have made it obvious I was staring.
You're not supposed to look at girls that way
but I can't help it
because those eyes are the only thing I want see
before I close my eyes to dream of her waking up beside me
Those lips are the only ones I want to be kissing at 2 am
and its storming outside
and she has to cuddle closer to me because she's scared
Those arms I want wrapped around my neck
as I carry her over the bed we share
to make her squirm under my touch
because ******* I love her
She is my everything
but I will never ******* have her
because she insist of dressing her best
to impress the guys
when they will never appreciate her the way that I do
They will never look at her the way that I do  
and as silly as I may sound
I hate her in all that she is
but she is my everything
and I ******* love her.

I cannot say you are beautiful.
I cannot compare your eyes
to stardust or nebulae
or say your voice is as soft and delicate
as lace.
Although you are my whole universe,
you are not my whole universe
and saying so would be an insult to space.
People are not the beautiful.
Neither inside or out.
You are not a complex planet
or a system of stars.
You are human.
You are broken.
You are messed up.
Just like me.
I am messed up and broken.
We are all messed up.
We made a mess of ourselves to
show people we were civilized
and no matter how enticing that sounds, they are nothing but brittle lies
that crumble in the hands of truth.
There is no galaxy in your eyes.
I cannot say you’re beautiful,
so I don’t even try.
I cannot express enough of myself
to convince you how real this is,
how deep I feel.
This is the most I can give you,
a sad little poem.
It’s all I have and I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry I write poetry in part to
make me feel more deserving of you.
Like the longer you spend on the tip of pen, the more qualified I am to be with you.
I’m sorry I write poetry in part to hurt you and I wonder if you wonder
who it’s about
but lately,
I’ve started to realize that everything around me,
reminds me of you.
Your wavy brown hair pulled back
In a perfect ponytail,
you’re gorgeous green eyes,
so curious for the things of the world,
how you always twist the silver band on your ******* when you’re nervous,
how your brows furrow together
when you frustrated,
or how you smiled for everyone
even if you didn’t want to.
I cannot say you’re as beautiful as Aphrodite because you’re not.
As much as I want to believe you hold
the universe in your eyes,
or that your hair is angry ocean waves,
or that your voice is silky flowery lace but it isn’t.
It won’t ever be because we’re only human and that’s all we can be.

He felt the scars up and down her arm
with the tip of his index finger.
Tracing ever indentation that was left by a blade.
“Why did you do it?”
he asked.
She sighed and answered
“Because I had to.”
His brows furrowed not understanding
how she possibly had to do this to herself.
“I did it to control the pain.”
He trailed kisses from her wrist up to her neck,
“I still love you,”
he said enclosing her in his arms.

Sometimes love is rough. Rough like sandpaper rubbing away the last remnants of her smiles.
Sometimes love is long. Sometimes you have to wait for love because sometimes love gets lost. Lost in between the islands your hearts call home.
You might see love. Love might have curly brown hair that she tucks behind her ears. Love might be shy Love might hate the way her glasses are too big for her face but you tell her she looks gorgeous in them. That makes love smile. Love hates her smile.
Sometimes love is late. She most likely won’t come when you want her to but she’ll come when you need her.
Sometimes love is messy. Sometimes love is indecisive. Sometimes she says she doesn’t care even when she does. Sometimes love apologizes a lot. I know you get so and but sometimes love is scared. Scared because she doesn’t want you to leave her. Scared because every other person she’s ever let in has left her. And love is tired of feeling like a burden because sometimes love feel like a burden.
Sometimes love is a lot of things at once. Sometimes I just want to be seen.