if you tell me that you love me, i will not say it back

instead, i will tell you that your voice reminds me of indian chai tea and that your lips taste the way i thought cherry blossoms would and that i'd much rather sleep pressed up against your skin than under a sheet — i will tell you that i plug in my headphones to listen to your heartbeat and that you make me want to scream and cry and buy a one-way ticket to the other side of the world just to get away from you and i will tell you that i feel like i am skydiving without a parachute because i have never fallen so hard or so fast and that's scary and yet i have never felt more alive than when i am with you

i don't think that people are beautiful,
whether it be on the inside or the out —
rather, i believe that people have beautiful
moments, like when their eyes light up whilst
talking about their dreams and their passions or
when they are so genuinely happy that it even
makes you smile or when their heart skips a beat
when they realize they're in love for the first time
and the corners of their mouth automatically tug
upwards because it's such a good feeling

people are so caught up with aesthetics and
trying to be someone else's idea of beautiful
that they're passing up chances to be and
feel beautiful every single day and i think that's
disappointing.

you're pretty during the day, but
you're beautiful at night when the
only light in the room is coming from
the dreams that are spilling quickly
out of your mouth and your hands are
shaking because they have never held mine
but i want to fill yours with phrases like
'i drink my coffee black' and
'tuesdays are my favorite days'
so you can get to know me without my
tongue quivering and creating broken
sentences that you wouldn't understand
and your skin is soft and your hair smells
like peppermint and i want a love with
you that's more picturesque than your cupid's bow is
and i want to kiss you so hard that
you won't forget it because
i know i won't forget
you

when you died
i threw your skeleton into my closet
because i couldn't let go of the boy
who told me i didn't need skinny legs
to be beautiful and that it was okay to
drink water when everyone else was
drinking beer

but your skeleton has skinnier legs
than i do and i'm left getting drunk
off old photographs and songs that
sing the words that you used to sing
to me when we sat in parking lots
on wednesday nights doing nothing but
laughing and not saying what we really
wanted to say

i like you a lot
i love you more
i hate you sometimes
please don't leave
i'm really going to miss you

i locked myself in the closet yesterday
with your skeleton
with the memories
i could hear you laugh and
things were okay
(for once)

cigarette
after
cigarette,

kiss
after
kiss,

touch
after
touch,

i think the devil knows me
better than i know myself

if you think about it,
clouds are just like people —

they move around slowly,
carrying all of this weight on
their shoulders until finally,
they get sad and turn grey and
drench us with the feelings
they've been holding back.

sometimes, however, i think
that i would rather be a cloud
than a person because clouds
aren't afraid to show people
their emotions —

they cry;
for minutes, for hours,
sometimes for days,
but they are not scared
or embarrassed. they are not
afraid to tell others exactly
how they are feeling —

maybe that is why there
is always sun after the storm.