my thoughts are paper planes
that don't seem to see the runways that i drew
on the blank sheets in front of me.

thoughts hang around my head like an itch that won't go away
       and they're *making me scratch my brains out

I won't be plucking off petals from my rose
like those lovesick Romeos and Juliets on park benches.
I don't need luck and petal symmetry to believe.

I won't litter the petals
like lipstick marks or blood stains on white sheets.
I won't be placing them in a vase half full,
that's temporary.

I have a better plan in mind,
a better way to immortalize
my rose. Deep within a gift,
pressed between pages
is a symbol of your love to me.

Why do I need to love myself,
when I have your words comforting me
                 like the cup of hot tea in my hands and the blanket around me
                         this cold winter night.