I'll be honest
I'm not exactly sure how to write myself pretty
I don't think I'm capable of making desire out of words
Or forming the way I sound into something you would want to fall asleep to
I cannot mold my body into a figure that you would want next to yours for more than one night
I have more passion in myself than I know what to do with
I often give it out as hope for people to take in their hands, find something good in all of my chaos
Everyone always advises not to fall face first in love
Forgetting that the those who fall by accident
Often land the hardest
Hitting the ground full force
Cheek against the pavement
I was built with 206 bones in my body
And I will break all of them from my mistakes
Before I dare to stop falling
The crash is worth the high
Ask me every time when I am still hung over from yesterday
And I will always say yes
Having regrets has always seemed better
Than having nothing at all
I was born with steel layed out upon my chest
All of these attempts at language
Are done with the intention
Of removing some weight off of it
I have been made heavy by my own silence on too many occasions
At times I have been told not to speak
That my lips should be kept shut for protection
There are bolts on my jaw
My tongue is sandpaper
And I will risk grinding my teeth for the possibility of igniting a flame
Inside someone who has spent years trying to find a lit match
Let me be the thing that starts a fire
Rhyming doesn't always incite romance
But I can try my best
See the problem is that there are so many ways to say I love you
But not enough to make them love you
The problem is having a million things to say
And a million ways to say them
But not knowing the right way how to
There is no right or wrong here
Only hold back or release
So stutter instead of staying quiet
It is much more beautiful on paper
To disregard format, or style
And structure
I will mess up
As best as I can
And in the morning
Look at it again
Remember how it felt
To live
Then reread,
Review,
And edit.

And it's been years since you and I have been a thing
And it's been weeks since I felt like a human being
Things are bad again, it's like I'm barely living
Simply existing
But it might be the darkness I surround myself with
And my head surely isn't thinking straight
But I keep using myself as bait
And it never really ends well
But the stories we sell
To each other
Make the days pass by
I'm just trying not to feel
Trying not to cave into my old habits.

The words you said apparently meant nothing
And now as I'm walking among the living
Feeling less alive than I ever have been
My body is refusing to accept my skin as it's own
And the pores are breathing out my being
Almost like I am not longer existing
And the dying trees remind me of you
Standing strong and tall against the harsh wind as your leaves
Abandon your branches one by one
By the time spring comes
I will be gone
From your memory

You make me want to
Set fire to everything
More specifically anything
That has to do with you

You make me want to
Tear off every piece of my skin
And pull out all of my hair
Just to strangle you with it

Okay
Maybe that is
A little bit
Dramatic

But you drive me
Absolutely insane

You are a bus
That I would willingly
Throw myself in front of
Just to get your attention
Although you would most likely
Keep going
Without stopping

You are so skilled
At pretending not to notice me
Talented enough
To paint my skin invisible
The way you look right past me
Is truly an art form

I am well aware
That I am not the only girl
Who plays marionette
To your puppet master hands
But I am the only one
Who is content
With having them around
My neck

You make me want to
Sharpie all of your faults
On to your forehead
For the whole world to see

You make me want to
Stand on top of a cliff
And proclaim every single thing
That is wrong with you
For the whole world to hear

Calling you terrible,
Awful,
And cruel
Is easy

But if you were to call me
At 2 am
I would probably still give in

I would drop everything
Just to see you
For a moment

I would sacrifice my pride,
My dignity
Just to spend a night
With your body

You make me want to
Do a lot of things to you
In more ways than one

And that is exactly
What the problem is

I don't hate you
But you make me want to
You make me wish I did.

I wrote poems about you, you ****.