I want to write you a trilogy on the stages
in which our relationship formed.
The first book would be solely based on the day
that I stopped treating your text messages
like active landmines. Stopped tiptoeing.
No longer being afraid of what your affection
would do to me once I submit to it.
It would be based on the first step I took to
stop being so **** afraid. From that very day
you've helped me in ways I'll never be able to fully explain.
Helped me let go of fear and trepidation, and open
my heart to the greatest thing in the world; your love.

The second would revolve around the first time you kissed me.
I don't know if you noticed, but my knees buckled
like seatbelts and I shook like glass window panes in torrential rain.
That day you awoke something inside me that I didn't know existed
but I'm so glad you found it. Like a stray kitten I was lost
and you brought me back home without questioning where I'd been,
and I'll never fully understand why, but I guess it doesn't matter.
You've taught me not to overthink things, to just revel in the moment.

The third would be set in here and now. Every forehead kiss
and stolen glance sums up to another page, every loving gesture
is another chapter. We are creating something people wish they
could create for themselves. A love that belongs in museums
to teach the world what it really means to give yourself to someone,
with no fear, and not a single ounce of regret.  To say that you changed
my life is an understatement. You altered my way of thinking.
Took a broken thing and made it new again. Made me, new again.

And with every word that slips from your lips I am reborn.

it's getting cold again.
not only outside, but in my head.
in my chest.
north-east October sits heavy
on my shoulders.
i've lost the warmth
of the sun and
that of his arms span.

My soul carries the burden,
of more than a thousand unsaid words,
and on occasion, they strangle me,
grip my vocal cords and squeeze,
until mutism seems like a good thing.
When words try to find their way up my throat,
they are gagged down like a first taste of strong alcohol,
when you're sixteen, and trying to drink away the pain,
but can't stomach the bourbon or the regret,
so you pour it down the drain, and curl up,
next to the toilet, trying to heave away the poison,
you've just forced on yourself.
If I could find a speaking voice,
I'd scream at the top of my lungs,
begging you to see what your foul thoughts do to me.
Waking up to screaming, set like an alarm clock,
must not be too good for the  psyche,
for I am falling apart like the seams of,
a sweater worn with age.
But you can't be wrong.
God have mercy, never tell her she is wrong.
She justifies her mistakes,
with the pain she bottles up,
like an over-filled balloon,
ready to pop,
and knock the wind out of you,
with it's own.
This cycle will never change,
though in the midst of it all,
I don't see myself as misfortunate,
for whether or not I set an alarm,

I will always wake up.

Oh what a wild ******* night,
Danced until it all felt right,
Let go of our troubles, for just a little while,
To have a bit of fun, to act like a child,

Yeah, we danced, danced until our feet hurt,
And our voices run dry,
Danced until we forgot about that usually pain stained smile,

You know, that mask we always used to wear,
and say everything was fine,
Well baby, tonight, it was real,
For one time in my life,

That pain stained smile wasn't haunting my mind,
We were just dancing, and having a good time,
So again, I say, what a wild ******* night,
Why can't we all act like this, all the time,
That would be the ******* life.

Have you ever had so much to say, but no way to say it?
Every answer you've sought to find is true and tried but still,
to no avail, you're tongue tied.
Like the words behind your lips are in knots
and they're not as simple to detangle as earbuds,
(ha, what a laugh, even that is like rocket science)
Do you see the point I'm making?
It's like your own thoughts are encrypted
and you're forced to try and crack the code.
Like you've just self medicated with poison, and now,
you're trying to create the antidote
with shaky hands and eyes blinded by confusion.
It's like walking down the street with your shoelaces tied together
or sitting on a not so metaphorical bed of nails
Difficult, to say the least,
hell, even painstaking,
to want to scream every word at the top of your lungs,
but have no words to produce.
betrayed by your vocal chords, you're left mute,
and feeling stupid.
To have such a valid point but no way to make yourself understood,
It's like putting together a puzzle without finding the corners first.
Do you ever have something to say, but no way to say it? because I sure as hell do.

Black surrounds me,
And at the moment I know,
The enemy is near,
But no, I show no fear,
You pray on the weak,
But I am the strong.,
And here I am,
Putting you in your place,
Putting you where you belong

The problem with writing
is sometimes the thoughts
rush through the pen so quickly
it leaves them indecipherable
the next morning.
My hands move too quickly,
and it makes the letters
loop violently like drunken slurs
under lamp posts at two in the morning.

Catastrophic.
Writing about the reasons I can
no longer trust
the time I surrendered myself
completely only to be left
dead in my tracks.
The first time I waived my
white flag and the
knife still entered my back.
Intoxicated lettering could
never completely explain.

It's like,
It's like I look in the mirror,
and don't recognize the face staring
back at me
nicotine addiction and,
parents screaming
these things,
they now define me.
I don't know of a time when they didn't.
I don't know of a time when they won't.
Brighter horizons,
these things seem non-existent.
I'm stuck in a never ending whirlpool,
of who I'd like to be,
or, who I'm supposed to be.

Who I was.

If this hasn't occurred to you yet,
I am not your average cookie cutter, barbie doll type.
I do not swear to wear pink on Tuesdays
or any day for that matter because pink reminds me of innards
and that isn't exactly something that compliments my complexion,
it only accomplishes making me seem more dead than I already do,
and who wants that?

In reality I am manic pixie dream ******* crack,
one day with dreams of  hair down to my navel,
the next I can hear the hair clippers calling my name.

I cut my hair not because I was looking for attention
but because I do not wish to seek approval,
do not wish to meet stereotypical versions of what girls are
"supposed to look like."
If you tell me I look like a lesbian, I will promptly thank you
for the compliment and send you on your way,
because lesbians are people too, whether or not I am one is irrelevant.
I do not wish for other people to view me as attractive
only for people to view me as I am
whether that is flower child or train wreck
because it changes weekly and sometimes it's both.
my identity is not a fixed point, it is a spectrum
and if the idea of that scares you, just imagine
how much it terrifies me. Some days I am sunshine
and other days I'm a cyclone looking to rip through
anything that's in or even surrounding my path.
The truth is I am the epitome of confusing.

I cut my hair because I am at a pivotal moment in my life,
a point in time where I choose who I wish to become.
I know hair doesn't seem like that big of a factor,
but this is the first of many crucial decisions that I will be forced
to make on my own, and I figure if I can figure out how to
wear my hair, then balancing a checkbook will figure itself out.

The truth is I am horrible with decision making,
and many times crack under pressure
don't know what essay topic to tackle
go back and forth on the topic of college majors,
and while one of those is short term
the other is monumental and keeps me from sleeping sometimes.
I'm usually the neutral one,
the one who agrees to what everyone else wants.
But I need to break that habit before it becomes unhealthy
and i'm pretty sure it already has.
I'm a few steps late in the process,
but the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem
so I'm headed in the right direction.

And so I cut my hair.
watched it as it fell from my head like sad little tendrils of despair,
and formed into a pile that resembled a cat by the time I walked out.
In doing so, I found a new part of myself,
a part that was always there but never really announced itself
When I cut my hair I officially labelled myself as a risk taker,
because the truth is I don't think I've ever been more scared
than I was when those clippers hit the back of my neck
and the weight of my hair fell off my shoulders.
Taking such a huge risk made me feel alive,
and that, is something I'm okay with.

Like walking on water,
It's an illusion you see,
They try to confuse you,
Because they don't want you to see,
All the bad choices they've made,

Thats right,
I'm talking about government,
And this massacre that has been created,
All in hope of a better tommorow,
But instead, we face hell, today,

So don't believe a thing they say,
They're all out to get you anyway,
And this may be cynical, or even pessimistic,
But darling, someone needed to speak the truth
Some day,
So why not today.

Through the haze of the cigarettes smoke,
you seemed like a good part of my life.
But then the flame diminished,
and I realized you were part of the poison,
trapped in my lungs.

Wicked tricks,
And cold glares,
They complete the look,
Of a too good to be true,
Witch,

No,
Not a witch,
Riding on a broom,
The witch here,
The witch is you,
Rumors,
They float in the air,
And you spread them,
With out a care,
True,
Witches do exist,
The witch is here  
The witch is you .

Who are you,
Your wicked,
In every sense
of the word,
Your wicked,
The witch does exist,
The witch is here,
The witch is
**You

It’s scary as hell how last week you held me
right before I said goodbye,
and in my head I was screaming ‘I love you’
hoping so badly that you didn’t see it in my eyes.
Because I know it’s too soon for such weighty exclamations,
and the last thing I want to do is scare you away,
but you make my mind race and my heart ache
and the soles of my shoes always seem
to point in your direction
the way a plant grows toward the sun.
You are my most significant source of light.

Today you told me you were scared.
Because you like me so much,

All I could say was "i know that feeling"
because even though I've given up on impending forevers
I'm doomed to believe that forever would
best be spent with you.
You won't read these words for a long time
because it won't be the right time, for a long time
I'm just fast forwarding because
my heart doesn't know patience,
my heart knows bed sheets and now, now, now.
Rushed beginnings and painful endings.
You are neither. You are kind and respectful,
and won't pass boundaries, even though realistically
I never set them. You are a new kind of amazing
and it is exhilarating.

Don't think,
Just write,
This might be the best advice,
Don't even try,
Let the words flow,
You are the master of your mind,
Let the world melt away,
Your free to write about whatever may haunt your mind,
I can see it in your eyes,
Don't think, just write.

I write,
When I feel like I'm going to cry,
When I can't keep all the hurt inside,
When I feel alone,
In a crowded room,
I write,
Because,
I am,
A writer,
It's what I do,
I don't write to please you.
I write,
When I want to just let it all go,
I write,
Not because you told me to,
Because I
Want to,
I want my mind,
To be free,
Of you.

My head spins at the thought of your embrace.
like a flame to the drapes I erupted,
and burnt down the house that held me up.

I need you.

I need all of you in the most terrifying ways,
you're like a drug I've never experienced,
daunting, and wicked.

I crave you.

Like the plains crave the wind,
or a painter craves pastels,
you're like a potion.

You keep the bad away.

You keep me at the highest peak of insane,
lost in the greatest way,
like dancing with the absence of rain.

You are,
the wind beneath my wings,
keeping me alive.

The slightest thought of you,
Makes my head hum,
Like a perfectly tunned,
Six string guitar,

Baby, you and me,
We'll go far,
For you're the one that owns my heart,
You had me from the start.

I am a,
completely insane,
ranting,
mess,

All because of what you said,

Today,
in math class,
when you went from,
innocently happy,
to crazy *****,
in a matter,
of seconds.

I swear to god, you make me want to cut myself,
just with your attitude,

The way you speak to me,
******* makes me crazy,
I thought we were friends *****,
but don't worry,
now I see,
that you're nothing more than the others are,
Nor will you ever be.

Like, seriously *****.
get off your ******* period.