There’s two little kids in white
Roaming up and down my road

Young angles of the night
With heaven as their future abode

Long blonde hair,
a veil made of tulle.

Soft bare feet,
the grin of a fool.

The boy holds a paper airplane
It holds his thoughts and dreams

It’s flying towards my window
And I won’t catch it by any means

My life is systematic

It’s the gradual open and closing-
of eyelids

It’s slowly forcing all my muscles to become involuntary

My life is repetition

It’s a life without thoughts

It’s living everyday in a pattern of pain
Yet with a smile on my face

You held my water in your hands
I wasn’t even thirsty yet

I placed a bucket below you,
To catch the water if it fell through the cracks

Her thoughts became your thoughts
When your thoughts were bored

Your brain would go to bed at night
And your dreams would come to find mine

She would only call me,
When nobody else would answer

I reached out to her
When nobody else was there

But, a ventilator can only keep a person going for so long

If you sit up tall,
I’ll fix my posture.

If I see you smile,
I’ll smile back.

Forever I will watch and steal from strangers,
The qualities I’m afraid I’ll always lack.

I’m sorry if you feel like I have copied,
Admiration is all I want to show.

I take from you the things I’ll always dream of,
The confidence I’m afraid I’ll never know.

I will always cry for broken glass

and, broken reflections..
that never could last

I will always fall down on my knees
and soften the ground
for those bigger than me

I will always look fear in the eyes
and banish deceitful truths
in exchange for hidden lies

I will always return back to your home
and sit beside you
although feeling alone

I will always ask for a chance to die
and take death as a gift
for my life is a lie

I will always cry for burning sand
and bow before it
to lend it a hand

I will always cry for broken glass

tough but fragile
and..no..turning..back

Dear Teacher,
I want to be a lawyer,
a doctor,
a detective,
a writer,
an engineer,
a straight-A student.

but

Dear Mother,
I want to be a stoner,
a drinker,
a rule breaker,
a shoe wearer,
an underager,
a party-goer.

but

Dear Friends,
I want to be a leader,
a martyr,
a gossiper,
a trend-setter,
an accepter,
a secret keeper.

but

Dear Boys,
I want to be a lover,
a lust,
a dream,
a flirt,
a conserver,
a relationship-haver.

but

What Do You Want Me To Be?

the thread was caught
stuck on mine
unraveling more and more
every second getting farther
yet closer at the same time

then the thread snapped
and it was done
back to before
but not like it never happened

eye contact
a precious thing
when you look At someone
you might let it sink in for a moment

others
they look away
to them eye contact is quick
a sudden dart of eyes towards and back

now eye contact
well it’s nothing like when your eye
when your eye gets caught
gets caught on another person's eye

you were not looking at them
they were not looking at you
but when moving your eyes or heads
your eyes simply gravitate towards each other

your eyes were like magnets that all of a sudden
all of a sudden were connected
neither of you tried
it just happened

this look is short
but it is not a dart
it’s a smooth move of the head
where for one second your eyes are one

the thread soon pulls itself back together
like rolling up a roll of toilet paper
you compose yourself
but for half a second you were the least composed you ever could’ve been.

Her bones are frail
Her face is porcelain
Yet her memories are the youngest thing about her

The day she fell, she shattered
Broken into a million pieces,
Her own glass stabbed her in the heart

So long ago, but something she will always remember
The scars help, but the lingering pain helps more
Put back together now, she's still the same person from another time                    

The little girl inside her remembers every word
Good and Bad
She may not remember how the memories occurred
Yet she knows exactly how they felt

She will never remember her first smile, first tear or first laugh
Although, she does know that one day when you go out to play.
You're going out to play for the last time

Even if, she'll never be able to know what that day was.

build with me.
together we’ll put words on paper.

we’ll decorate the world with thoughts and creativity,

if you choose to be my architect.

I have a two-week breaking point.
For 14 days I go through the motions: emotionless.
For a fortnight of time, I am indifferent to all things.

Yet on that 15th day I snap, bringing my composure down as well.

On the 15th day, I resort back to a shell of dependency,
hunkering away in isolation with nobody to depend on.
I become a nail made for a wall, but with no wall to go into.
My sole purpose is hopeless and my ambitions crushed.

Some may say I have a two-week expiration date.

This is a letter to brown eyed girls
I know you’ve heard the love songs and seen the movies
I know you’ve been confronted by them in your own life

I know you’ve seen the blue that reflects the depths of the ocean
I know you’ve succumbed to how easy it would be to swim in them

I know you’ve heard the rumors about how they light up when they laugh
I know you’ve seen the life they hold even when all the salt is drained out of them

But I know more than that, I know the things you could never know yourself

I know that the power of melting gold is only something you will ever have
I know that mystery is better when you look at something and can’t see what’s there

I know that the reason people are afraid of the dark is because they can’t understand it
I know the ocean isn’t warm the way a hot fudge sundae is

I know that when the sun is laid upon you, you light up uncontrollably
I know this fire that burns within you is eternal

I know that your eyes allow you to stay hidden and that although you might not stand out in a crowd, your secrets will only be deciphered by those who care enough to search for them

You are deep, you are wisdom, you are mystifying and you are power
A power so buried that even you can’t see it
A power that doesn’t have to shine to be potent
A power that only girls like you have
This is a letter to brown eyed girls

The bottom of my feet have scars on them now
Im burning

Last night I took off my face
When we met, I didn’t even recognize her
The next morning I put it back on
And it was like everything I ever thought I knew was erased

I didn’t know who I was anymore
But I knew what people thought of the real me
I may never know what they think of my face
A face doesn’t provoke actions the way I did yesterday

I don’t know if we’re better with or without faces
I don’t know if it’s a preference
I don’t know if it’s something we decide for ourselves
I don’t know if someone out there has all the answers

I do know that without a face we’re just souls
And I also know that with a face we’re just people
But it takes a whole lot more than both of those things to make a Human Being

I have curtains over my eyes
You can’t see them,
But I know that they’re there

They don’t allow my eyes to close and open,
But they allow me to decide what I should truly let into my perception

In the back of my mind, there is a shelf
It holds memories from a long time ago

These memories are how I remember
And they are how others forget who I am

In my throat, you will find a trap door
It’s locked and not even I have the key

Sometimes it opens to let in a breath of fresh air,
Yet it closes when it deems it most safe

Buried down in my heart is a stone
It weighs me down and holds many things

I can’t pick the stone up to see what’s there
But I know something that heavy must hold something important

My brain has become a home of my imagination
My body is now a place where anatomy is obsolete

I only hold objects and things that I can never see
And never touch
So that when one day when I fade away, there will be nothing left for anyone to find

It's a fortune cookie religion,
Where we abide by our own truths

We crack them open in the kitchen,
And spill out our papers of youth

We count our lucky numbers,
As we count our own turns of fate

It's a crystal sugar altar now,
And this cookie is my soulmate

It’s a fortune cookie religion,
Where we abide by our own truths.

We crack them open in the kitchen,
And spill out our papers of youth.

We count our lucky numbers,
As we count our own turns of fate.

It’s a crystal sugar alter now,
And this cookie is my soulmate.

I love the faded white paper,
As I adore the soft blue ink.

I allow the cookie to mold me,
What I love, what I hate, what I think.

I love it best when they hold true predictions,
Gazing into my life like a crystal ball.

I won’t succumb to only a simple quote now,
I’d rather be told when I will stand and when I’ll fall.

Not ever will I let the cookies fool me,
Or glide right through my past like it’s untrue.

Instead I’ll weave the cookies through my whole life,
I’ll let them choose me because through them I chose you.

for yesterday, the day all you said was thanks.

for tomorrow, the day I'll pretend I wasn't crushed.

for next week, when I'll sew denim patches to try and hold my heart in after you ripped it out.

for next month, when I'll still be kept up at night due to the horror of the most anticlimatic rejection the world has ever seen.

for next spring, when it will have been a year and you will have forgotten.

for the future, when I'll remember all the pain

When writing letters I'd use fountain pens because-
ink runs smoothly alongside my words.

When drawing a picture I'd use fountain pens because-
I feel transported into times of great art.

When telling my secrets I'd use fountain pens because-
I wear confidence best when I'm alone.

When crafting poems I'd use fountain pens because-
I feel proud as poets should.

When writing letters I'd use fountain pens because with them,
I write poorly.

And I want my loved ones to know I tried.

There used to be something romantic about living to see your funeral

Seeing who cares
Seeing who pretends to

This romance gets lost on you when it truly happens

When you’re a ghost walking through your past

Everyday, living a memory
Like you already left

your tiny hand unravels and the ornament hits the ground with a crash
you cry as you miss the tree by a mile,
Mom hurries to clean up the glass.

An aunts arms imprison me, protecting my bare feet
skin unscathed by the problems of the world
It's baby's first Christmas again.

Years pass and now we're under the stars
you lay in a tent, shadow bunnies hopping all around you.

My face is invisible but my voice is loud and clear,
High pitched and delicate as I take Dad's camera and begin to narrate.
Old enough to tell my own stories now.

I try to cross the damp wooden log, mountain water flowing below me.
My voice goes silent and the screen goes dark with a sudden splash.

I walk down the stairs, you smile and Dad films.
His camera has now been replaced by a handheld mirror of technology.

My dress flows past my ankles, my date appears at the door
A new voice has entered our house and our lives.
Parent interrogation fills my prom night and my cheeks fill with color.

I laugh and I grab the remote, I find the luminescent arrow with a line adorned below it
I eject the CD but download the memories into my mind forever

Today I wasn't good
But I said I was.

I'm sure you did too,

Were you good?

Every night I **** myself
Every night I die
Every night I look in the mirror and ask myself why

“Tell me, why are you doing this.”
“Tell me, why are you here.”
“Tell me if others love you, why can’t you love yourself as well”

Every single night I scream
Every night I fight
Every night I am attacked, caused by my own great fright

“Hey you, why do you work so slow and procrastinate”
“Hey you, why do you set goals you’re never gonna follow”
“Hey you, are you ever and I mean ever gonna be good at anything”

Every night a dark dark room
Every night it fills with suicide
Every night my bladed heart beats with ****** pride

“Stab yourself to control your weakness”
“Stab yourself to get rid of the pain”
“Stab yourself, it’s a punishment and a favor”

Every night I am up late
Every night my skin drips red
Every night my soul bleeds out and I feel the blood in my bed

“Let them, let the bad memories flood your brain”
“Let them, let them all be better than you”
“Let them, let them never know you’re effort”

Every morning I am awaken
Every morning I think about my life not taken
Every morning my body covered in scars
Every morning my pain trapped behind bars

Every morning I put on a smile
Every morning I am not fake
Every morning I find my new day worthwhile
Every morning I give and I take

Every morning my blood is dry
Every morning my skin sewn anew
Every morning I don’t have to lie
Every morning when the world is blue

I will be back again tonight
I’ll scream and twist and shout and fight
I’ll stab and cut until I die
And I’ll **** myself, at least I’ll try

The reaper I know, he’s come before
And tonight he’ll be back right at my door
We will rejoice together and soak up our sorrow
But then he’ll leave again tomorrow

Every night I know I die
So every morning I ask myself why
If every night I lie their dead
How am I now alive instead

Every morning given a second chance
And not even until night do I give it a thought or a glance
I am my own enemy and my own greatest strife
Every day I’m given a gift from my old friend life

Life, this is a love letter to you
For all the great things you’ve done and will do
Because I know I’ll **** myself tonight
But tomorrow morning I’ll be alright

Through all my living, you’ve given me a skill
I’ve cheated death once, and again I will

I’m not curious
I’m not thirsty for answers
I don’t need to know the things I do

My secret passions are not my own
My heart doesn’t lie in the heart of knowledge
I never wanted to know everything

My plan wasn’t to take it this far
But I’ve made it to the point of no return
You can’t learn this much and stop

But I promise you I’m not desperate
I’m not looking for anything-
Anything other than a cure
A cure for my worst fear

And I, well I fear boredom

there's something about forced love.
maybe it's the way it smells, the way it bleeds.

maybe it's the way two people can walk side by side down the street, yet never even look at each other.

or maybe it's when they do look, but the effort and discipline put into it show that even eye-contact sometimes requires practice.

there's something about holding hands with a loved one.

but instead of comfort and a subtle embrace, all you find is sweaty palms and angst that show you never really loved them at all.

there's something about a fight.
one where you scream and glare and stomp.

but afterwards, instead of hoarding away in your room to cry, you feel fine.

those fights, are formalities.
they brainwash you into thinking you reside within a realistic relationship when truly you can't care enough to shed a tear.

there's something about car rides.
but only the ones which are silent.

silent not because you're feeling pensive, but because you lost your words dozens of car rides ago.

there's something about forced love.
and that something,

is that it's far too obvious and much too common for our own good.

I could jump in that puddle
If I wanted to

I could scream and disturb everyone
If I wanted to

I could spill this coffee everywhere
If I wanted to

I could grab that chair and flip it over
If I wanted to

I could grab these scissors and cut my hair off
If I wanted to

I could take my shirt off this very second
If I wanted to

But I don’t
Nobody’s stopping me
They could if they wanted to
But they don’t
I’m stopping me
Because I want to

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd write in black and white

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd convey messages through silence

If I wrote poems in my dreams.
then my writing would hold knowledge it doesn't when awake

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then you'd see a side of me that even I don't know

My poem found me yesterday.

It chased me down a hill, and rolled past me like a tumbleweed in an old western ghost town.

It clothed me in words and betrothed me to my own metaphorical aspirations.

It ran me down a path to a dead end but then showed me a way out, the way into my thoughts.

It painted a dozen pictures and sculpted a million lies that would soon account for all my forgotten memories.

In the end the poem held up a white flag and told me it had surrendered, yet it wasn’t until this moment I realized I had been the one chasing the poem all along.

I found my poem yesterday.

A click rang through my ears as I locked the door.
A bang sounded off around me as I dropped the toilet seat.
All of my senses were blind, yet my taste was heightened.
I sat down and let my feet dangle in open space,
toes much too young to touch the ground.
The walls around me vibrated and a sugar plum anthem pounded in the room next door.
The door rattled with knocks,
dancers hurrying to use the bathroom in between rehearsals.
Bobby pins littered the floor, and a run in my tights that was once the end of the world was now deemed insignificant.

My arms grasped a happy yellow handle, my stomach rumbled with fear.
A forgotten lunch had forced my father to drop off the forbidden red box sitting in my lap.

I tore through the paper, pink nail polish flaking off of my fingers.
I reached inside and pulled out my delicious contraband.

My baby teeth broke through the sesame bun, as my small eyes swelled.
I forced myself to swallow the meat, my throat succumbing to salt from both the pickles and my tears.

Ketchup burned, dripping red with the pain from my soul.

I was the exemplary representation of a young ballerina. A girl struggling to find balance between two notions. The first that you must never starve yourself, and the second that you must never eat unhealthy

A splatter of ketchup fell onto my leg
Once I left that room everyone would know what it was

Everyone would know what I had done

At only seven years old I had already earned my scarlet letter

Men with shovels
Lining up to pour dirt
They grin as it packs in,
More and more, suffocating all my thoughts

In the ocean, I'm running
I can barely even move, but I stay there
I swim and try to breathe
My lungs fill with water and memories flood my mind

Suddenly a room
Packed with people,
I'm pushed and shoved against hundreds of warm bodies
I crash into walls as I hear the noises of others fabric tearing
I fall down and everything goes silent

My brain begins to collapse as the rest of me melts
My feelings dissolve and outsiders go blind
My eyes are frozen as glass and nothing can break through
My mind begins to shield me from the rest of the world

Inside my head I find my terror
Inside my head I find my escape

Like most people, I see color.
I choose one to be my favorite.
I identify all objects through shade, tint and hue.

I witness darkness and lightness at their blurriest points.

I watch transparency succumb to these two worlds and let truth get lost in between.

In between worlds is where many find themselves.

Those who paint themselves gray, surrender to going unnoticed and convince themselves everyday that their scars will disappear if they stop looking.

These people are entitled to invisibility.
They wear it like a cloak or even a mask.
They adorn themselves in an attempt to stay hidden.

I too am lost between worlds.
Yet I don’t share a cloak of invisibility.
I wear intangibility as a piece of armor.

I am a soldier demanding my right to walk right through everything.
To feel nothing.
To go untouched but still seen.

I let others play the roles of bystanders watching me almost crash into conflict before passing through like a ghost.

I embody mystery and fate and death for my life is hiding somewhere in color.
I embody intangibility so I can glide through life and maybe access that color again.

Dark black
Long time no sees
Or blue and soft

Sandy blonde
Very natural
And a blue-green point of view

Tan skin
Second hand sweaters
Wirsts adorned and decorated

She only makes sense to herself
But she makes everything for everyone else

She’s Lucy

I was born in California,
but haven't been there since
So...have I ever really been?

When I was little, I took a trip to Mexico
But I don't remember one bit
So...does that even count?

Three years ago, I wrote down on my bucket list:
One day I want to see a firefly
I want to see it shine
And not just one, but hundreds
I want to see a whole swarm, delicate as fairies
Off on their mission to warn the world,
Nighttime has arrived

Two years ago, my mother found it and said to me:
What are you talking about,
Fireflies?
Why you and your brothers used to fly with them all the time
You would get a jar, probably one we called Mason even if it wasn't
And you would lock them up inside, prisoners
A type of Stockholm syndrome, where the captors are captivated by the captees

At that moment, I could have erased seeing fireflies from my bucket list and my dreams,
But I didn't
Because that little girl with the jar has lost herself,
and to find herself again... she MUST see a firefly

I brush my teeth
I use the bathroom
I comb my hair

I pick a shirt
I find some socks
No they don’t match

I walk downstairs
I grab a drink
I eat my breakfast

The bus is here
I get my bag
I say goodbye

I tell her I love her
And I walk out the door
I lock it behind me and think

I wonder if she cries when I leave

You know I wrote a poem once,
They said it wasn’t funny
They said it was too dark and symbolic
They said it should be more sunny

You know I wrote a poem once,
They didn’t like it one bit
They went on and on about how it didn’t rhyme
They threw one great big fit

You know I wrote a poem once,
They originally tried to discover the meaning
They soon enough decided it wasn’t fun anymore
They were hideous and awfully intervening

You know I wrote a poem once
I wrote it about them
I told them it would be upbeat and rhyme this time
Ha, but it didn’t

Jason told me yesterday
Something
Something special

Something about Jason
Nobody else could tell me the same

Only Jason could

Somebody out there watches black and white films to satisfy a stereotype they wish to fulfill
They watch not because they enjoy the film, but just because it's in black and white

Don't you think,
a person alive in a time of only black and white films would perhaps

find it quite odd.

That people watch black and white films for fun when they could instead watch one in color.

One day my fairy godmother asked me,

Do you want to be white?
Do you want to have fair skin and thin easily manipulative hair?
Do you want long legs, legs that look good in jean shorts and skirts?
Do you want the boys to call you pretty?
Do you want to fit in?
Do you want to live in a world where your most commonly asked question isn't "what are you"?
Do you want to go to a school where the administration doesn't think of you as a statistic they need to improve?

Of course, I said yes.
"Make me white" I said.

She said too bad.
Too bad, you're gonna be Hispanic.
You're going to have dark skin that makes your pale scars all the more apparent.
You're going to look different each time you walk into a classroom or onto the school bus.
You're going to hang out with your white friends and forgot you don't fit in, at least until you look into a mirror and you remember.

And remembering is going to haunt you.
You're going to avoid cameras and windows.
Avoid anything that reveals your daunting reflection.

You're not going to be white.
Fairy godmothers aren't real.
All you have is an hada madrina, and what can she do in a whitewashed world?

I held on tight
We added more
First one, then two, then three
We kept it even
Now six on each side
You go up I go down
We smiled and rode
See
Seesaw

See
See Pain
See
See Beauty
See
See Work
See
See Life
See
See Age
See
See Loss
See
See Yourself
See
See Them
See
See The Kids
See
See Them Smile
See
See Them Play
See
See Not Seesaws
See
See Not hopscotch
See
See not swings
See
See not frien d s
See
See not real o n e s
See
See connection s d i e
See
See generations c h a n g e
See
See everythin g c h a n g e
See
See it all di s s a p e a r
See
See them forg e t h o w t o p la y
See
See  
See
See

She claims she loves you more,
She claims to decipher your whispers like no other

Only she sees your dreams and understands them for all they are.

She reaches into her sleep and finds your rolling tears crying out for you and your sleeping soul.

She watches the tears shape you and cover you in fear, a fear she claims that only she can understand.

Aimlessly I listen to her tell me all that you mean to her, yet at night when I lie awake I am the one swimming in your cave of cries.

I am the one who holds the light that will eventually let you find a crack and escape.

She listens but I aid you.
She may love you more but I love you bigger.

On January 13th I leave.  
I will get on a plane.
It will be my death march.

I will leave my town,
My school,
My friends,
My home,
But what I’m leaving the most of...
Is people I barely know.

The ones I stop and say hi to in the grocery store.

The ones who’s social media I comment on despite never making an effort to call.

The ones I check up on maybe once a year,
or at least once every few.

And it’s almost saddening. That these are the people society expects me to spend my last days with.

Two weeks left and I just cram my calendar with goodbye lunches for people who were never truly in my life.

They are dying to see me they say, but it’s funny because I’m not even sure we really know each other.

We’re not going to cry when we give our final hugs, because we have no tears for one another. No real connection.

But for some reason these are the people I am making plans with right now.

Oops, gotta go get my calendar.
The phone is ringing.

You call me a believer,
but you haven't heard my dream

You call me a believer,
because with pity you watch me scream

You tell me to speak my truth,
because I have "important" things to say

Funny, wasn't it you?
that ignored me yesterday

I don’t write poems either..
Just words sometimes.

You are taught to scream into your pillow,
So nobody can hear it.

You are taught to smother it in your punches,
So you can relieve your anger.

I haven’t screamed in a long time now
There’s a buildup of pain in my throat
It’s forgotten how to let itself out

I’m walking down the streets every morning
Wondering how so many people live so many lives

I’m overwhelmed

The pillow in my mind
It’s white
It’s fluffy
And suddenly I’m muffled

I be me
Me I be

That Me-I-Be!
That Me-I-Be!
I do not like
That Me-I-Be!

Do you like?
setting yourself free

I do not like it
That Me-I-Be
I do not like
setting myself free

Would you like it
Here or there?

I would not like it
Here or There
I would not like myself
Anywhere
I do not like
being free
I do not like it
Me-I-Be

Would you like me if I was quiet?
Would you like me if I caused a riot?
I do not like me
Me-I-Be
I do not like
The being free
My choices when free don't seem up to me
I do not like it
That Me-I-Be

My lovely thesaurus that sits by my side,
I use it and abuse it and love it with pride
I am not ashamed I have nothing to hide,
My lovely thesaurus that sits by my side

A writer’s friend, an antagonists foe
The book that makes my characters suffer incredible woe
A tool that I use when my conflicts not steep
A tool that I use to make dialogue more deep

I replace mainly adjectives but sometime nouns or verbs
It helps spice up my story in a way a chef might use herbs
It gives me a way to avoid repeating what I have already spoken,
And it helps leave my readers uplifted or heartbroken

This lovely thesaurus that sits by my side
It improves the way my characters lived and how they died
I use it and abuse it and love it with pride

It makes me no less and only helps me inside
So I will not be ashamed, I have nothing to hide,
If I said I didn’t use it to write this then I would have lied
My book of adventures, fairytales and intense dragon rides
My lovely thesaurus that sits by my side

I'm writing this poem for Nathan
which is funny since I have nothing to say

not because I don't wanna talk to you
but just cause we already talk all-day

I'm writing this poem for Nathan
and hoping that he finds it kinda okay

I want him to enjoy it just a little
or maybe take out to read another day
        
                                                                         - M

nobody sees me
they don't, i swear
nobody sees me
and nobody cares

You’ll never know anything
Not anything thought by a person
But it can’t make you better and it won’t allow you to worsen

Nobody will know, never anyone at all
Will never know anything
If not proven by law

You’ll never know anything
If it is not a fact
Trust doesn’t exist, nor does any pact

What you choose to believe, think or feel
None of it’s guaranteed, none of its real

I can’t say it’s fake or say it’s not true
I can’t call it a lie but neither can you

There are many things we will never know
But we’ll always think we do
Or is that even so

I swear I'm not from this planet,
I swear I'm not from earth

I promise you with all my heart,
I must be an alien

because I am different,

because I am the same.

My whole life I explored through words,
The ones I’d seen written or the ones I’d had heard.
I thought there was nothing more to it than this,
Books left a mark on my soul like a sweet kiss

Then I met dead poets and sweaty toothed men
I met Forrest Gump and his old pal Jen
I was taught about humor by Mrs.Doubtfire
I forgot all about the life that I had lived prior,

Prior to fighting on spaceships and living in trees,
Prior to constantly debating between Marvel and DC
Prior to letting disney make me smile and fight back my tears
Prior to horror movies introducing me to new fears

I met a life where one picture show
Could take me to a place I’d never get to go
This life was a life only made for me
A life outside of my reality

I sang along to all the musicals and got up and danced
I covered my eyes in the shining and barely even glaced
I sobbed and I sobbed when jack dawson died
I imagined what it would be like to have Mcfly by my side

I wished and I hoped watching Monsters Inc.
And in finding nemo I never let myself think
I found that sci-fi and fantasy held whole different meanings
The the ones they had held in the books I was reading

Chapter by chapter or scene by scene, I finally discovered what adventure means
I hung posters on my walls and bought all the clothes,
From movies symbolizing my life’s highs and life’s lows.
I was a true fan but I didn’t hold a favorite
They were all close to my heart and I just needed to savor it

Savor this life outside of my own
One that I’m lucky was ever made known
Made known to me a true movie fan,
Someone who will cherish them as long as they can.