You are 6 ft tall barely,
Already feeling broken,
haven't even had your first "real date."
Forgive me, I've misspoken.

You took her to a movie once,
You made her want to run,
Because she finally realised
I was the smoking gun.

I was one real reason,
bet you'd hate me if you knew.
Our newly ignited friendship?
Don't be kind, we'd be through.

Your words have too much impact,
You think things far too deep.
Your feelings have not subsided,
They haven't. Not in the least.

You say your mantra again
All thats happened, I'm above
If that is actually true,
Why do you still refer to her love?

Your heart is too invested,
I guess you're not for me.
For I was never going to accept
her seconds willingly.

Perhaps one far-off day,
When I'm comfortable with myself,
I'll remember these days,
And take my feelings off the shelf.

there is still
space
for love in your
sadness.

I don’t accept your hand-me-down home.
Your smell has seeped into the fabrics
of the world I’m trying to fit in to
and it’s choking me.
The streets are laced with your memories,
and your footprints are too fat to fill.
I am buckling under the weight
of the expectations that
I cannot measure up to.

To be totally honest I forgot this website existed, until for some reason I started cleaning out my old email, last checked circa 2015.

Along the way, I forgot about these words that used to fill my head. I grew up, apparently. I was so caught up in being everything, I forgot that I'm me. No amount of resumes or friends or post on Instagram determines who I am, only I do. I forgot that I steer my fate.

I completely forgot about the unruly delight of letting words dissipate from my mind into thin air, and trapping them in my laptop screen. There's some unequivocal satisfaction in being able to take a foggy thought, and make it clear by wrapping it in pretty adjective and metaphors. For some reason, my shoulders relax in a way that's different, even special.
I never did this for you, this was always for me.. I forgot that I do this for me.

I forgot what it was like to pick words like the petals of a flower, delicately, because being delicate creatures makes our feelings just as frail and vulnerable.
I forgot to pick words delicately.
I realize now that my words are like bubbles, floating with ease through the air eventually making their point with a subtle 'pop'. My words have been more like lumps of hail, uncontrollably destructive to everything in their way. I forgot what it was like to choke up on emotions that I didn't know I had, that only this simple thing can reveal.

Most importantly, I forgot who I was. This young girl, lost and confused and trying her best to know herself. To be honest I still don't know myself. Sometimes I get mad at myself for that but then I remember, that this, this simple thing, saved me from consuming myself for years. Maybe it still can.

I realize now, that my undying anger can be tamed. That no, I am not some evil beast cursed to live in angsty distress. I am human, I will always struggle to live with my imperfections. I no longer need to try and teeter between the balance of good and evil inside me, because I'm human. I teeter regardless.

I had forgotten the eternal weight of words, how they create and destroy the world around me. That words are everything when you feel like you have nothing. That words can save lives, can save my life. That there can never be enough no matter how hard I try. That's not my fault. I realize now that life is not determined by my words but rather that my words should seek to give life, to enhance.
I forgot that there's no need to hate myself for being human, that if this life needs anything it's more love. I forgot that it's okay to slow down, to speak softly and to question everything. I forgot this for so long, but I think I'm starting to remember.

When people ask me about my first love,
I remember the smell of melted crayons.
Not your smile, your golden skin, or the way your face would wrinkle in deep thought.
But about the carelessness of a child in your backseat,
And how with help from the sun,
your car was forever perfumed by a melted, purple Crayola.
I grew to love this scent.
It's an odd thing to even say aloud now.
However, it's permanently imprinted in my mind.
Over summers spent in your car and nights staring into your eyes,
I grew infatuated with this waxy, sweet aroma that filled the air between us.
It became your cologne that stayed with my clothes while you were away,
My comfort when you were near.
It was never sickening or invasive,
But desired and wanted.
So when people ask me about my first love,
I tell them about this boy who always smelled of crayons and how much I miss him.