We are children .
With unkempt hair
And hearts full of wonder.
We are the explorers.
We swear to god that fairies do exist.
Because we’ve seen them.
Hiding in the mushrooms.
Growing in our backyards.
And if you asked us if the boogyman was real.
We wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.
Because he is
And one day he’ll get us.
And give us heavy hearts.
And whirlwind minds.
One day he’ll massacre the fairies.
And **** the explorer in us.
We’ll have to grow up
Just let me be an astronaut.
I love lightning.
I love the way it lights up the sky.
For a brief moment it lets you see
Everything the moon was hiding from you.
Darling, you are lightning.
You light up my darkest places.
Even if that light is brief,
It's a lot better than the dark in me.
But we all know what follows lightning.
And darling, thunder scares me.
I mean it scares the **** out of me.
And you scare the **** out of me.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready for the thunder.
For the light to leave and the noise to invade.
I'm not ready for the chaos that will follow you.
I'm not ready.
I like the quite ways of your light.
I love the marks it leaves on my body.
The visual representation of where you've been.
Of where your light has caressed me.
I'm not ready for the noise.
I know what thunder does.
I know the kind of fear it leaves in me.
I know it will make my soul shake.
I know when it comes your light will leave.
And your marks will stay,
But you wont.
I know when it comes all I'll have left
Is the ringing of your thunder in my ears,
My quivering soul,
And the marks where your light once was.
But soon even those will fade.
And then I'll be left with nothing.
But my love for lightning,
And my fear of thunder.
Flags hanging at half staff
Children laying half dead
Goose bumps invading my unwilling skin
Soldiers invading an unwilling country
A girl telling her mother no
A woman begging him to stop
A little boy crying over his broken toy
A girl sobbing, her body and soul broken
Water gushing from a fall
Blood gushing from an innocent bystander
Grade school students protesting their weekend homework
Girls protesting for their right to go to school.
The juxtaposition of life.
I want to taste jealousy on your lips when you kiss me
I want you to know that I don’t ******* need you
That there’s another guy that lives just down the street that would love to **** me any day
I want to feel like you need me to stay.
When you hold me I want to feel like you’ll never let me go
I want to know that you’re afraid of loosening you grip
Afraid that I might slip into the arm of that man down the road.
I want you to fear me.
Fear the power I have over you
The power to leave you if I ******* wanted to
I want you to know that I’m not tied down to you
And I want that to make your body shake
Like an earthquake
I want to feel like I have the power to make you crumble.
You had that power over me once.
Before I remembered that I was just someone for you to ****
Your own personal Vicodin,
Something to make your heart numb to the pain of her leaving you
But now your growing feelings
But the time for that is past
I've been hallowed out,
***** you’re my toy now.
I can still feel your hands
On my body
And I swear to god
It’s the most haunting thing.
He was my first for a lot of things.
My first kiss,
My first infatuation,
My first night spent cuddling,
My first lover,
My first all nighter,
My first shower buddy.
He was my first real heart break,
The reason for my first cuts,
My first night thinking about ending it,
My first addiction,
The first boy I ever cried over.
He was a lot of things to me.
He was my first love.
The first person I was every truly afraid to lose.
She posts a comment,
With a smiley face next to it.
I can hear my heart plummet
To the bottom of my stomach,
Disrupting the digestion taking place there,
I feel the vile
Trying to creep its way back up.
Rejecting the news
Its being forced to sort through.
I thought it had gotten better,
I thought it was able to digest
This kind of information now
Like a taste it was forced to acquire.
I thought it had gotten use to this,
That it had learned how to hold
This sort of thing down.
After the first time
When I had seen your ex post on your wall
She missed you,
Every time you added a new ******* facebook
After a night out
I was no longer invited to.
I thought I had gotten use to it
After you told me you only ever wanted to be friends.
But here I am,
My heart plummeting to my stomach
Trying to force itself to digest this comment
And the plethora of information it holds.
I’m no longer a friend.
No longer someone you invite out.
I hold you back.
When you have a bad day
You flock to one of the many girls
Whom you've accepted into your life
Over the past month
Never to me.
Only hearing from you when no one else wants to go out.
I’m no longer on your invitation list
For your Thursday nights out to karaoke.
I’m not longer significant.
This information is not something
My heart, or mind, or stomach
Trying to reject it,
while I keep trying to force it down.
I no longer matter.