come back and take what's yours.
you left your fingerprints on my skin.
i am you and nothing more.
but a restless night and a body thin.

i'm sure this wasn't in your plans.
i'd still need you when we're apart.
i am a sculpture created by your hands.
you were never good at art.

Poetry is not just a mess of words thrown together to tell a story about the boy you adore .Poetry is the letters that ****** a reader's sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing. Poetry is supposed to make you feel something as deeply as you love the dark haired boy with knobby knees, as you love your grandmother on her deathbed, and as you much as you love the feel of someone else's dumpling lips against your own. Poetry holds your heart up among the angels or drags your sensitivity down below dark waves of pain.

When the dust has settled in your collarbones and the word alone reveberates through you...
What will become of you ?

Words spilled from my lungs until the day a boy kissed me.
The words were trapped inside as he pumped his own soul into mine.
I had lost all sense of what was mine.

When he left, he left like a stranger on a lonesome street.
I felt my lungs sticky and limp without use.
It **** so long before words began to pour out of me again.
I know what is mine.

I want to feel your lips pressed up against mine when the only thing on our tongues is alcohol and the only thing we are wearing is skin. To be against you and see you in another light. You may not believe in a certain religion but I could of sworn you were a Christian last night as the word God rolled off your tongue over and over again because you couldn't remember the syllables of my name.

(Bld)

Maybe life is about finding yourself, but maybe again it isn't. Maybe life is all about meeting people, a bunch of people. Sometimes the people you meet are going to hurt you, but that's okay. You'll learn from the experience, from them. You'll also fall in love with a lot of people in your life, maybe not always in a romantic way, but you will love them none the less. The more you're around people, the more you gather bits and pieces of who they are, a fraction of their soul. By the time you're old and God is urging you to join him, you will not have spent a lifetime alone trying to find yourself but rather a lifetime of surrounding yourself with people, and at the end of it all, you're a collection of everyone you've ever loved, and I think that's what life is about.

i am ruins.
i am dust.
i am rubble and broken windows.
i am nothing.
and You made yourself a home
in these ruins,
in this heart,
and somehow, i don't know,
You make beauty out of these ruins,
You make glory shine out of these
broken windows,
You see that i am not enough,
that i am broken and You make
Your light shine through the cracks
of this heart.