death would be easier than dealing with this.
or would it?
i can't be trusted with this decision.
it'd be comforting to know for sure that my life is being controlled by something else.
my veins are aching, leaking out through tiny holes you poked with your teeth
my once full energy supply is now depleting,
battery life draining down to 5%
warning, warning. connect to charger.
1%.
i'll shut down, soon.
hopefully in your arms.
how difficult is it to understand
that people like me never sleep soundly?
i'm sick of you(r) people
and your UPPERCASE letters
UPPERCASE standards
UPPERCASE expectations
you, better than me?
hah.
please.
whispers drawn from scratchy throats,
whispers being the loudest they get,
coated in alcohol and ash.
you try to scream
but your voice is muffled by
the weight of your decisions
i told you to stay with me forever
no way to say no
you're stuck heading in one direction
promises are promises, dear.
you told me you'd rather die.
i'm feeling cold
no shivering, waves of frost wash over instead.
they're much worse.
i keep on tucking my hair behind my ear
it won't stop falling from the perfectly made groove
curved to perfection
signed and dated.
it falls how my best friend "accidentally" fell off of a balcony
mom always warned me about balconies.
why do you think i always walk with one hand against the opposite wall?
it's reminder that you can stay away from the gravitational force that is Earth.
at least, for a bit.
why do spaces matter, anyway
jus ta wayt odi st ance
things that should be,
that belong,
together.
the boy who sits behind me in class
plays with my curls, and then
one day,
he cut them off.
i trusted him.
kinda still do.
trust is a weird thing.
trusting someone not to look when you change is hard,
they could turn around and you'd never know.
somehow,
trusting someone not to tell everyone that you want to die is easy.
i'd trust you even if you held a gun to my temple.

The builders of Stonehenge
Were pelvicly challenged
So they erected a monument
In such a way
That it could be interpreted
As a displacement activity.

And the rest as they say
Is pre-history.

the great love poems
are the ones
about love that's
unrequited, or
impossible.
without complications,
the dust simply
settles.
people get used to love
and it becomes a habit,
it remains but sometimes
they'll forget it's still there.
and the poets, they write
about what they'll never have,
and perhaps there is beauty in that,
in the literature of
unending desperation,
but by now I've come
to realise that most poets'd
gladly die for a chance
to write bad poetry
and the habit of
a lifetime.

I have seen sunsets
lovelier than you,
and you are not as
powerful as the ocean;
and cheesecake tastes sweeter
than your lips,
your hair does not quite
outshine the sun,
and a light breeze in May
is gentler
than your gentle hands.
I love the sound of your voice,
but there are symphonies
lovelier,
and the words of Neruda
are more well-versed
than any that you've spoken;
and yet,
your inadequacy leaves me
enchanted
like nothing in this world,
and I wouldn't live
or die
for sunsets and rhymes
but I'd live and die for you;
there is nothing
in this world
that I'd compare you to, and
some things are more beautiful,
but they don't mean as much.