You can use my chest to hear the ocean.
Swim in my veins and I will sail your eyes.
The earth is our canvas as we remember our trees' growing;
Like leaves embraced by wind, we are whisked to the skies.
The joining of lips will stop Time's grip,
Because he decides: "I shall take them never;
Forever paired." Impossibly split, even if
Fates river were to drown our endeavors.
I would fight the harsh rapids, aided by my will
To have your soul again within my grasp.
Death before failure; I would cry a horrid shrill
If another won you with his beautiful mask.
All above is a fiction often recited
By my thoughts to my soul, so lonesomely reminded.

You will always
fall in love
at the wrong time
and in the wrong body.
I give you my word.

I might write about
Your smile
Or
Your laugh
Or
All the ways in which I wish you were mine.
I might detail for you my
Devotion or
Show you snapshots of my
Heartbeat
And how every
Thump
Sounds like your
Name.
I might tell you
How you haunt
My dreams.
But a good kind of haunting.
One that I want to
Put away in mason jars
So that I can
Save it for the winter.
When It's
cold and
I don’t
Have you
Anymore.
I might write to you about
How much
I love you,
Or I might just be content
In writing  
Nothing
At all.

A simple question,
four words, why do I write?
I write for me,
to escape from the world.
I write to express myself
in a way I wouldn’t be able to with my voice.
I write for others,
to entertain them,
put a smile on their face,
or to let them know they aren't alone.
I write to forget.
I write to remember.  
I write because I know the paper won’t judge me.
The pen will never disagree with me, even if I am wrong.
I write because there are no boundaries, no expectations.
I have the ability to create anything with just words on a paper.
I write to save my imagination, to expand it.
I write to better understand my surroundings,
to see the world in different ways.
I write to hate.
I write to love.
To cry.
To smile.
I write to communicate,
if no one will listen.
I write for various reasons.
But most of all,
I write because in second grade
my teacher told me I could be an amazing writer.

I am exhausted
and all my thoughts sound the same
I want to be unconscious
and not even dream
I just want it to be quiet in my mind
if only for a single hour
My mind is only ever running in circles
and I try to rake up all the thoughts that are
Sharp and Loud far into the back of my mind
and wait for them to be something
Less,
less than a murmur
To pen out and address the stress of my thoughts makes me
afraid
that they may come to life,
spring from the page and topple me to the ground