scientists say that a fingerprint develops when a baby is only 12 to 19 weeks along and that it is impossible for two people to develop the same print and although i believe in science i am still hoping there is a chance that someone in the world might have the same etches on the tip of his fingers as you did because to find the same hair colour and the same eye colour and the same smile is almost too easy but your touch against my skin made even the brightest of fireworks envious and darling something like that is irreplaceable

i write all day like an adult,
i am learned and i use big words
and i know how to accurately craft
a metaphor about pain and harm.

but at the end of the day
i return to childlike phrases,
“it’s not fair,” and i feel more
of a release from that than
a composition notebook
filled from cover to cover
with a million different ways
of saying that i still,
despite everything,
am not happy.

Isn't it sad
How we
Can spend
A lot of
Time together
Yet know
Next to nothing
About
Each another.
This though,
Is not the time
To reminisce.
Earlier this
Morning you
Told me that
You were leaving.
It came in not
As bomb that
Levels cities,
No, it was more
Like a baseball
That broke through
The stained-glass windows
Of my heart.
This does
Not **** me,
But day in
And day out,
I am burdened
By the gaping
Hole in me.
I pick the
Shards of glass,
Stained with
Memories and
Mysteries.
I only ask
To know you more.
I try to put
The shards together
Enduring all
The cuts to my
Fingers.
Cuts of different
Sizes, some are
Deep and some
Are shallow
But all draw blood
The same.
I Persevere
through the pain
To rebuild
That perfect
Picture.
To see the
Mystery
Unravel before
Me.
To put together
The pieces of
Your identity.
Isn't it sad
How we
Can spend
A lot of
Time together
Yet know
Next to nothing
About
Each another.
I only ask
To know you more.
Someday perhaps,
I would see
your hands,
Whose scars
Would gladly
Open again,
And help me
Fix this broken
Memory.

I'm happy.

That might not sound big
but I've been depressed
since I was a kid
like a broken record
on repeat.

My memories were
and old-school walkman
that can't stop skipping
too many bits and pieces
are missing.

But now music overflows
from my joyful soul
instead of crackling
inside my heart
like radio static.

*m.w.

My heart is a garden
and you have trampled on my flowers
instead of tending them.
You cut the stems
when they were already broken,
leaving petals trailing behind your footsteps:
nothing but a sad reminder that you left without looking back.
I should have locked the gates
instead of letting you in,
but I thought you had the seeds for the flowers I was missing.

Thunderstorms twirl across my skin,
hurricanes dancing up my spine,
lightning erupts from her skies,
and I find myself enraptured inside.

I see galaxies form beneath her skin,
Supernovas waging war within,
fighting to escape her prisons,
and I'm praying she'll let them win.

If her melody is the universe,
I want to wake up beside the stars.
Let me sing in meteor-showers,
dance with Venus in the acid rain,
I'll skip in the asteroid fields,
jumping nebula fences,
because there's no limits;
the places she takes me are endless.


*~Matthew Walker~

It's the middle of the night
and I haven't figured out
if these feelings are lying
or if I'm only honest in the dark.

I feel alone every time
I slow down enough to feel
and I'm craving the feeling
your body beside me brings.

I'm not allowed to have you
and it's breaking every bone
inside my aching soul
at least that's my 1am feeling.