All my time invested in you,
Seems to have come to a waste.
The endless words that parted from my lips,
Slipped into the air like mist.
My heart gave you all my love,
And you crushed it like a hurricane,
Ripping from its place.
I suppose your I love you,
Was never met for my ears to hear,
But hers instead,
Considering you look at her,
Like she’s a beautiful gem in a field of coal.
I should’ve been treated better I guess,
But I had assumed that’s what you call “teenage love” these days.
Now you stare at me as if I was black smoke,
Endangering your lungs,
With every breath you take.
Yet,
I am trying to fix myself,
Because no one else will care to fix me,
For you can only be your own hero.
So I guess I’m a martyr now,
Since your loved killed me once,
And I’ve been warning every one of the dangers,
And the exploding passion,
Of the love we all want.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
And haven’t spent countless nights wondering how their voice saves you,
Or how their laugh is such a beautiful melody you cannot put into words,
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
Then you haven’t felt the first love butterflies,
Or the quiet sound of eyelashes against each other’s cheek,
As you kiss them for the first time.
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
You don’t understand the feeling when they hold you close,
As if gravity could never keep them down to Earth.
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
You haven’t felt the exploding emotion of feelings,
And feeling like you heart and soul will combust into dust,
When they say they love you for the first time.
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
You haven’t felt the red hot anger building in your throat,
And the tears coming down like waves from your eyes,
When the love suddenly goes away.
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
Then you cannot understand the emotion,
Or the words you wish you could form,
When they say the same words to someone else.
And you feel like an old photograph that was lost in the attic.
Then you are lucky.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
You do not know what it feels to watch your heart fall apart,
And crumble like soft rock dissolving in water,
Knowing you could never love someone as much you had loved them.

If you haven’t fallen in love with someone yet,
Then you are lucky.

1 2 3 4,
I count all the steps,
That led me to your closet door.
1 2 3 4,
I remember all the arguments we had,
Which were over such little things.
1 2 3 4,
I re-read all the old messages you sent me,
Realizing you probably never meant any of those words.
1 2 3 4,
I can still feel your lips on mine,
And the lie you tried to get me to believe.
1 2 3 4,
I found the poems you wrote me in my marble notebook,
Each lovely word still has the power to make me cry.
1 2 3 4,
I replay in my head the last conversation we had,
Before you decided to say goodbye.
1 2 3 4,
I look down at the pen I’m writing this with,
Seeing that it’s broken and so is my heart.
1 2 3 4,
I still miss you,
Even though you cause me to like the color red.
1 2 3 4,
I want you to come back,
Before I can no longer say,
1 2 3 4.

It is sad to say,
You are just like hot sand at the beach.
At the beach,
The sand is so hot that you cannot feel the burn for a moment,
And that’s how it started with you.
I was so infatuated with you,
That I had failed to see how wrong you would treat me,
And I would be treated just like the things you love to do on Friday nights,
Or every night for that matter.

And just like the hot sand,
After that moment of not feeling that intense burning,
I began to felt it,
And oh did it burn.  
My heart broke into small pieces,
Some which never returned,
And I’m sure you took those pieces with you.
Yet somehow,
I was still in love with you,
And just called the pain,
The thing we call “teenage love.”

Once again,
Just like the hot sand,
I got used to burning of the sand,
And I got used to you tearing me to pieces before you left,
That all my senses are numb,
And I have lost all direction.
I’m still unsure if not feeling any pain,
Is a bad thing after all?
Or am I loosing myself ever so slowly,
That I am not noticing it at all?

Out of all the words that came out of his mouth,
It seemed all he could talk about was her.
If he wasn’t talking about sports,
Or how much homework we had in science,
It was all about her.
Her and her blue eyes and golden blonde hair,
Her and her tall slim figure
Rather to my short and fit one.
He was so desperately in love with her,
That he didn’t see how on every Friday night,
Her and another boy talked with their mouths by the belchers.
She just laughed with him,
And gave him fake love every time.
I wouldn’t dare tell him,
For she would call me liar and he would believe her,
Even though he's known me since five.
So all I do really is smile and nod,
For if he’s happy,
Then so shall I.

My teacher once told me,
Authors write from what they know,
And I realized how it was true.
For once I read the small biographies in the beginning,
Or the small “hope you liked it” paragraphs at the end,
Seeing how true it was.

The thing is,
I want to be a writer someday too.
But I do not want to write from what I know.
All I know is pain,
And how it feels to be called every horrible word in the book.
How it feels to loose friends,
Or how your best friend could betray you.
I know how it feels to suddenly like the color red,
Even though I never liked it as a kid.
And I know what it’s like to disappoint your parents,
Or believe in the sweet lies boys tell you,
And the mean things girls can say and even do to you.

I do not want to write from that,
But that is all I know,
And authors write from what they know.
So I suppose now I will write with scared wrists,
And the now dull color red,
With a small pain in my chest,
Hoping someone knows how I feel,
And I won't be alone.

At the age of five,
I wore my ponytail high,
Hailey wore her blond curls loose,
And Cole wore his cropped and short.
We talked about little things,
And giggled at the sight of birds and squirrels,  
We were free.

At the age of ten,
I was called ugly for the first time,
Hailey noticed her dad drinking something like apple juice,
And Cole seemed to like boys more than girls.
We didn’t talk about any of it.
And we giggled at our cartoons still,
But we were still free.

At the age of fifteen,
I was taunted everyday until I screamed and cried,
Hailey’s dad drank the apple juice more and started to use his hands to show power,
And Cole didn't tell his parents about his boyfriend knowing they would scream,
We talked about it for the first time,
And we giggled as the ***** burned our throats.
We didn't feel free anymore.

At the age of twenty,
I had written my story on my arms,
But was okay for once in my life.
Hailey didn’t make it to 19,
Considering that her dad didn’t let her.
And Cole got hell from his parents about his boyfriend and was kicked out at 17,
Even though Hailey and me told him it was okay to be with a man.

Now at the age of twenty five,
Cole and me sit at Hailey’s grave,
Drinking the same ***** we did ten years ago,
Giggling at the small things in our lives again,
And suddenly feeling free,
Just like we were five again.