I cannot fathom
why that pretty song lasted so much longer
when I was so exhausted
I could hear my bones groan.
Yet that sad poem ended so much quicker
when it was about you.
One sang me to sleep.
One lead me to nightmares.

I always knew your biggest pet peeve was not being taken seriously, but here I am today mocking you. But if I say your hair is a mess, I really mean it looks unbelievably adorable when it curls up like that, just so.

And I know you could never be my chauffer, I know that now, and it isn't because we both don't even have our licenses yet. I'm simply coming to terms with the fact that I live inside of a bubble, underground, a million kilometers below sea level. And you are a shape shifter, only able to transform and transcend into creatures with wings. Maybe they don't all have wings necessarily, but wings could be a symbol for freedom, and they most certainly have that ability.

So one day you are a falcon. The next you are in outer space, being a creature that isn't even discovered by man yet. No matter what, you're still free. And I am still imprisoned.

You would think being inside this cell would teach me that no, you do not care what I think about your hair curling up at the ends, just so. And that yes, you are way too high above the clouds for an underground lady like myself. But I just never learn.

Perhaps the only way I will ever learn is when I find a new shape shifter. One who is not limited to beings of the sky, but one who can morph into anything. Maybe even a petite, rusty old key that can unlock me. And set me free.

And maybe, just maybe, that new shape shifter won't even have curly hair.

P.S. Please come soon.

The diamond in the rough.
The one who converts
yet never conforms
and is known
for being unknown
always on
the outside looking in
and enjoying the view.
The red in a sea of blue.

Pour me out.
Take me back to a day
of oblivious existence
Where our only issue
was being together
drinking it all in,
and never feeling
full.
Today,
I reached my tipping point.
And I might just finally topple over.
Shatter into a million pieces.
Scatter to the ends of the room
slip into secret cracks and crevices
you didn't even know existed
and will never find.
Clean the mess up halfway,
wipe up the water
sweep up the noticeable shards
assuring your guilty soul,
"That will suffice."
I hope you step
on the forgotten jagged pieces
you left behind.
And hear a crack
as your dry skin
meets glass once again,
but in a different way.
And when you look down
assessing your feet for damage
I hope blood seeps out.
Stains the floor red
forever tinted
with the same kind of pain
I get from knowing this
glass breaking,
earth shattering,
heart crushing
end to our story
is permanent.

He kissed my neck
Nibbled softly at its skin
And when he kissed my lips
I tasted my own perfume
My own poison
In my own mouth.
I lived, but he died.
You are immune to your own poison.

Once,
I built a city.
Quiet, serene, pretty.
All of my people were quite content
With a world of no sudden movement.

Then,
Someone came along
And sang a fast song.
It gave the people something to savor
And it caused their loyalty to waver.

So,
Everybody decided to leave.
A fact I still cannot believe.
**** that exciting song of temptation.
I tried so hard to change this situation...

Now,
I have a city.
Quiet, serene, pretty.
But I was abandoned by all.
Now all I have left are my walls.

They say Love is blind,
but I disagree.
It sees too much.

Consumed by maybe spite,
apathy perhaps.
Love
watches you destroy everything.

Omniscient; Love sees all.

As you consume yourself in flames of brokenness
and lose her,
Love watches.

And what is more,
Love does nothing to stop you.