4:59 in the morning and
my mind is a mix of
You, dreams and 5am-
All of which, I
have yet to receive.

that’s the difference
between here and there:
here I am alone
at night
and there
I am alone
always

Critic, cynic, skeptic.
We see the same thing differently—
That's relative
not relevant.

time seems to slow down exponentially
when you’re staring at the hands of a clock:
a minute can seem like a lifetime;
look away and they will change,
as if they were too shy to do anything
underneath your watchful gaze.

you were like this:
i didn’t know what i wanted until
i was no longer searching for it,
until you came from out of nowhere
and made me see what i’d always wanted
but never knew how to figure out.

my words tend to trip over themselves
on the way out of my mouth,
almost like they’re racing to see
who can get to you first,
even though they never make sense.

i don’t have anything that i am good at
or know every bit and piece about,
something i can reconstruct
to make you understand why
it holds a special place in my heart.

nobody taught me how to fall in head first,
give myself completely to someone,
and not worry about the innate insecurities
that have always been present
in the back of my mind.

i am nowhere close to perfection,
but can you find it within yourself
to pick up all my broken parts
and try to make something of a girl again?
(because with you i feel beautiful.)

she can't stop writing poems    
there are so many words    
she wants to leave behind    
her desire is to leave a mark    
upon the world  
Augustus Waters once said,    
the marks humans leave are too often scars    
but not scars that she wanted to leave   
she just wants to be remembered    
not as a perfect person    
instead as someone who is touched by flaws    
she wants to be remembered    
for her mistakes    
her dreams    
her laughter    
her delicate words    
she wants to be remembered    
as herself    
because at the end of the day    
one lives in the hope of becoming a memory