I overstretched my arms into September,
you watched my limbs break off on the first day of November.
I counted the days until everything would come back together,
I ran out of fingers to count with.
I coughed up enough gun powder to finally go back,
knocked on your door,
dropped myself straight on the porch in front of me.
I rang the doorbell until my fingertip started to bleed.
Your neighbors are telling me to stop grieving over someone
who still has a pulse, but I can't stop looking at our pictures
like a finalized headstone after the engraver asks,

"Is everything spelled correctly?"

I'd tell him he carved in the wrong date of death,
that's not the day you left, you never left.
You're going to answer the door,
everything can come back together again.
I won't have to count the days anymore.

I'm still right here.
I know I'm here because the storm drain hasn't moved me yet.
It hasn't taken my head and shoved me under your debris,
because I haven't let it.
I spent so long trying to figure out where it hurts,
and wound up right here.
This is where it hurts,
I'm not on your porch, my fingertip breaking,
I'm laying right next to you,
your arm draped over my shoulder,
your groggy voice in my ear.
This is where it hurts,
This is where everything fell apart.
This is where everything will come back together.
Everything will come back together again.

I look at the beauty inside of all her broken pieces and I wonder how anyone, how I could have shattered such a gift.
I want you to know that I don't write poetry for you, I write it all for me, In order for me to be good enough for you, I need to be better than who I was yesterday, a week,month, year ago. I need to be enough for you I need to feel as though I am worthy, as of now ? I do not feel as though I am.
With everything being thrown at us and me having this weak and fickle heart and an imbalanced brain, I tend to go back in time , self introspect was never my friend , I was never my friend, all that is good for me is you and the poetry.
Bad for me..you are but good is not what I'm looking for , good is not what my mind thinks about , as bad as you are? You're worth all the heartache, I choose to be here, you've granted me the pleasure of being yours and pieces of me are slowly returning and we're becoming better, I pronise.
I digress, I cannot stomach the thought of all my indiscretions , I cannot tell you how sorry I am for my fear of a good thing.

He is like the moon I think, while he's fast asleep. Wondering what he's dreaming of, and if he's mine to keep.

I could be his sun, wash away skies of painted grey. Brighten up his essence, if he'd only let me stay.

Counting stars is endless, it goes on into infinite space. When I close my eyes at night, I hope to see his face.

Today I looked for patterns in the clouds, but thoughts of him wouldn't flee. Images form from a far, is he my destiny?

The sun and moon search the skies, for something they had missed.
Turn your face towards that place, where hearts begin eclipse.