i used to love the smell of her
on my clothes
i used to enjoy her hair
pacing in front of my eyes.

but
everything collapsed
worlds colliding
people make mistakes
even the people we love.

now i'm more in love
with our memories
than with her.
but in the end
we all become the person
we swore we'd never be.

Building walls
Impenetrable
To everyone
Except you

I allow you in
Just so you
Can tear me apart
From the inside out

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

What you need to know about me is that i always mess it up.
I seem to be a hurricane, but really i am just the silence before the winds come.
half the time storms excite me, make me feel alive, make me dance, but the rest of the time i am too scared and i can't breathe and the world is too small and too big and everything is going to burn.
People tell me to sit still and breathe slowly and keep my veins beneath my skin, but i can't.
i apologise all the time because i am always doing something wrong. it is an apology in advance, so i can get it out before the words tie my throat shut with ink.
Other people can draw cute elephants and be happy and write songs, but all i can do is write about dead people.
these words are not good.
   they are not elegant.
my handwriting is messy and i can only write when other people don't want me to,
that's another apology.
Sometimes i want to call you but all the voice mails would be me begging you to help me breathe before the air disappears.
the tv is broken by static and no one can hear the queen's annual message.
here, the Queen is a spider web of dark and polish and hooks and curtains and blurry drawings and forgotten chimneys.