all I feel now
is happiness

sorrow has escaped my soul
and the bad energy has left me

I am here now with a smile
ever so wide, gracing my face

and the scars on my body
to show that I am a survivor

and life will always
get better

just hold onto hope
and believe

The smell that pulls me in,
And holds me closer,
To that familiar place,
And comfort.

Is it his scent that pulls me in,
Or his arms that holds me closer,
To that familiar scent,
And pheromones.

The smell that pulls me in for more,
And holds me closer to him,
To that familiar feeling,
And sensation.

Is it his scent that pulls me in for more,
Or my desire to be held closer,
To long for that familiar happiness,
And pleasure.

And maybe we are all a little broken but that's okay because I know some people throw out their old broken things but others notice that they are broken and love them even more because they see the imperfections as beautiful. And there are others who look down at tiny little shattered pieces and get the glue and magnifying glass and get a table out they haven't seen in years and put all the pieces on it. And they sit down for hours and days putting it back together knowing that it will never be what everyone else sees as perfect again but it will be together and damaged but it will be loved. Because the first time it was created it was instantly whole and someone else thought it was good enough. But a lot of things are just good enough. Every single Hershey's kiss looks the same except for the ones labeled as mistakes. Those are less likely to occur. But if they turned out this way normally than we would consider our current norm abnormal. So then the normal would be abnormal and the abnormal would be normal. It's all perspective. So the guy who spent all that time fixing you thinks you're absurdly and absolutely perfect. Because he saw the broken bits that were your original as even better than the whole you started as. Some people just get a few cracks in shipping and some people want the discounted price. But you gotta find the ones who see scars as beauty marks. That's what it's all about. Perspective. We are like this because we aren't like everybody else. We have the abnormal make. We are the 3 am word fighters and the night riders. We are all the bad and the good and we speak in bittersweet tongues. Nobody can fix us because we aren't broken. We are disassembled and can build ourselves. We don't need anyone else's tool chest because we have one right below our rib cage. Our lungs are practically indestructible because they know just how sacred air can be. We are the strong because we've cried ourselves to sleep and thought that was normal. We are the ones who were told they were doing it wrong the first time they cut but were strong enough to realize that they were wrong and there is no right way to destroy yourself. We are the future. We are the pain. We are the daydreamers who know how brilliant the sky looks at 4:27 am east coast time in Atlanta. And just because we've thrown up in too many bathrooms and told too many family members we ate before we got there, that sure as hell doesn't mean we aren't craving life and have had too many heartaches for breakfast. We are the ones who rolled over in bed and realized that the boy was gone and that we would have to hug ourselves. My shoulders are strong from carrying the weight of the world. Our eyes think that floods are normal because that's all they have seen. I have lived my life walking along the train tracks trying to find a way to get home. All I have gotten is calluses on my feet and strangers dreams in my heart. We keep them there. We carry the letters of the broken hearted and deliver them to the lost. As we saved others we lost ourselves. And then we look up and see the stars and realize that there's this whole galaxy that we are. We are everyone's broken promises and expired wishes. We carry the spirits of the deceased and the never born. We hold on to the spirits of the people who changed. I've cried myself to sleep too many **** nights for one person so I know I am the embodied spirit of everyone who's never had a voice and everyone who has needed one. We are the ones who were pushed against a wall and didn't say no because we thought that was the only love we may ever get and didn't realize just how twisted it was to trust a boy who treated you like trash and to think his kisses were your anti depressants when they were your poison.  But then we wake up and push him off and say, "Boy, I don't need you. You were nothing but heartache and pain. You see these scars? Don't tell me to stop until you are there to take away the ******* blade. Do not tell me suicide is a joke because every single part of me has thought it was a blessing at one time or another. Do not ever touch me until the day you will not be repulsed by the blood or *****. Do not tell me you are not in to scars because that is all you have left on both my body and my heart."And we are the sad nights where the boy you just fell in love with leaves on a plane to go home to California. We are the tropical islands where we met the loves of our lives. I am the tears I shed on the balcony in the Bahamas the night I got so scared I may never see you again. I am the song I sang out to the tropical storm winds that night where I repeated, "love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." I am the same girl who pushed the tears off her cheeks after letting their significance sink in and put on her makeup to go out and fake a few smiles. We are the ones who take care of the drunk girl we just met even though the boy we love just left. We are the ones who love our fathers even though they’ve broken more than a few bones in their lifetime. We are the ones who have treasure chest souls where children hide their keepsakes so that in twenty five years they can tell the story of their discovery to a 6 year old little girl with huge green eyes. We are the freckles on the lonely girls shoulder that made a beautiful boy fall in love with her; yet she wishes she could erase them. And we are the long distance phone calls between broken lovers that last 1 hour and 6 minutes and deliver lost hopes and shattered promises. We are the weddings that unite two people who thought about stepping in front of buses just 8 years before. We are the ones who cried on bathroom floors thinking it was our fault but stopped when we thought someone would hear. We are those who never want to be seen as weak because we don't want anyone to figure out that we can't always hold it all together. We are the ones who are bones and flesh and have died because their souls and bodies were robbed of nutrients. We are the ones who bled out on the carpet and weren't found for days. We are the student deaths that never made the announcement and never got a commemorative tree. There is nothing beautiful about sadness. But there is something beautiful about watching destruction save itself. There's something beautiful about terrible moments that turn gorgeous. We are the thorns that were trimmed back too soon because no one ever realized we were a rose. And we were never broken. We just needed to be too many heroes at once. So sometimes we get stretched too thin because our souls are too wide. Because there are a lot of broken promises and heart breaks and love affairs and sad minds and beautiful days and long nights that we must embody. We are the ones who would never change being all those things because we like having an ever changing soul. We are the ones who must fight to live even though we have patchwork hearts and memories that are in love with romanticizing the past. We must fight because when we die, others die with us. All the things we have carried and delivered turn to ash and lay beside us in a velvet and oak box for the rest of eternity on the day we are lowered in to the ground. But in reality we know that things will get better because the grandmothers dreams of an education located in our left knee cap on the right hand side tell us to never give up. So that's what we do. We listen to the demons in our souls and the angels that also pay rent. But we carry all our memories even when they jab us in the ribs and make us believe that we will never breathe again. But we are breathing. We are living and the daughter we are yet to have needs us to tell her about the world. Because I pray she has a soul like mine so that I may show her that the world is both bitter and sweet but that every single thing looks better after thinking you'd seen the most beautiful thing in the world. So we keep these bodies and live our lives so that we may realize that there are many more parts of us that magnifying glasses don't show and pounds can't measure.  And we hold on for everyone but must learn to hold the firmest grip for ourselves. Because I will always love that boy who left the island with the crystal clear water and I will never forget the girl who told me I didn't destroy myself in the right way. And I am okay with that. I am okay with carrying these things. I am used to the weight of noth the beautiful and the terrible. And although it makes me feel empty at times, I realize that it is only because my ever hungry soul is still craving even more life.

I'm so in love
with every version
of your soul.
I am fascinated
by the catacombs
in your broken and restless
heart.
There is nothing
I adore more
than you.
I love every single
version of you.
And all I can
hope is that maybe
you love one version
of me.

There was some kind of emptiness in my eyes last night
I could feel it
like a tornado sweeping over a deserted land
My deserted hands feel like a grand piano
playing a tune only you can understand
I dreamed of it once
a boy with blue eyes brushing away all of my sacrifice
and I swore I wouldn't let it slip away this time
like my mother did, every single time
Her daughter rushing for the exit sign
me
A time bomb left ticking
like a clock without a 12 and a song without the tune
and you
without me
I know it doesn't work
so I carved your name in the Earth and poured concrete into the words
because I can't ever let myself forget this
I can't let you forget this, we have to make it
As far as I'm concerned
your lips are a cave filled with crystal clear waters and a soft floating pillow
for me to lay
and I swear I was made to stay there
fit this way
like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly in it's perfect place
beside you
I can't remember fitting anywhere else
and your heart it melts in my palm
and I call out to some god so then maybe I can figure it out
how it's possible to have been so blessed
by your breath and your chest
and the beauty I recollect when I think of our first night
me floating in my flower dress
I wore a flower dress when I ran for my life
and I found yours and I like the way it tastes
I must say, I must stay
Honest, honestly I once whispered to a willow tree
about this boy I met in a dream
I swear it was always you
It's always been you

A lovers diary

Yes I am a lover.

I have hearts pasted on my wall,
along with posters of cars and all.
I wake up in the morning to see a balloon heart hanging overhead.
And as the days progresses, hearts pop out of my mouth and my breath.
My perfume smells of soft delicious rose
and people say with my feelings I’m very verbose.

I like to talk about my heart and feelings,
and stuff every word I say with meaning.

On one meaningful occasion I was in the lawn,
when a lazing cat gave out a yawn.
I turn around right then to see,
The queen of love – Penelope.
She was the one all lovers wanted to be,
Me included. Ones I told her “I worship thee!”
She stared at me like I was mad,
And said slowly, “Beauty is a fad.
Come know me, and you will see,
that I’m just another glowing bee.”

Saying this she walked on away,
With me staring broadly,
and my eyes in a sway.

Ahhh! How she looked at me!
with big brown eyes I could only see.
How she moved and she swayed in her grace as a cat,
And sat in her car like lounging on a mat.

What she said, was it true?
or was it just her words turning blue?
coz my mind was blank when she was talking to me.
didn’t seem to hear or tamper a beat.

That day and today.
it’s been a long time since then.
now she is walking towards me again.
But this time I don’t quiver or lose my breath,
as she walks up close after our eyes met.
She smiles at me “you’re a grown-up now”
I smirk back remembering how.
All those years have changed me.
I used to be the love struck teenager,
and felt like I was three.

Now I was big. black. n bold,
With biker gloves and chains made of gold.
My eyes saying I know secrets unsaid,
And if you say stuff I don’t like,
then take care of your head.

I no longer talk about my feelings,
or fill my words with meaning.
people don’t care about what I say,
Now all they do is cover their heads and pray.

No one asks me what’s that secret behind my eyes,
No one knows that I too pray when I hide.
But the one secret no one knows,
Is that I still have a red heart,
that flutters when the winds of love blow,
And how it turns warm and gives out a glow.

If someone would care to ask,
I would talk about my feelings.
Say everything out, of how I changed without meaning.

sometimes
love
is like
having your heart
ripped
from your chest
forced
through a
meat grinder
and fed
to a pack
of wild dogs

but sometimes it’s all worth it
for the times
it’s not

but sometimes...