Have  I ever told you- I still have your boutonniere?
Perched proudly upon my poetry books~
All of the memories of "Us" may have been stored-
hidden-
in a box solely for those memories
but that flower stands proudly,
untouched from the date- May 3rd

Fragile as it may be ( now dehydrated )
It remains a symbol of our love -
Filled with beauty, and fantasy-
but now dried out-
yet I still have it

Should I throw it away?
Forget and abandon it-
Or keep it as a memory?
and risk it growing on me
The longer it stays
the more questions arise...

Do you still have yours- Or is it gone forever?
*Do withered flowers lose their beauty?

I wish that I could have one more night with you lying next to me,
That way, when you trace the path from your heart to mine,
I can memorize the path that your hand took,
I can know where in my body my heart is located,
That way when you deem my heart,
Not good enough,
And my mind is telling my terrible things,
I can still trace my way back to my own heart,
And be reassured that just because you rejected my heart,
Does not mean that I must reject it as well,
Because it still serves a purpose for me.

(e.m.w)

I wanted my passion back..
This was who I was, and I wanted her to visit.
Even for a brief moment, so I can kiss myself on the forehead upon my return.
And actually say goodbye when she decided to leave.
I wanted her back.
My passion.
I wanted my poetry.. Back.
She fled from me.
Lost underneath the city sky, with false illumination from street cars named desire.
There was no North Star for her to follow, no way for her to venture back to my heart.
Like a turtle needing the moon to be led to the sea, I doubted she would ever make it back home
Extinction was the roughest of all possibilities but to mourn the loss of a love held selfish tendencies
I only missed her cause of how she made me feel not because of who she was or who she could have been
The manifestation of my pent up frustration came to set me free
Just pull the trigger
Nobody will miss her
Oh say can you see- what I am saying?
All I wanted was my passion back.
And it wasn't until I found G-d that I heard three knocks on the door saying

Here
I
Am

knowing that something
less dense than me
could **** me is the
reason i tend to stay
underwater a second
longer than most
others deem fit

When it has been five days since
anyone told you they loved you
and no one has held your
hand in four months
and you cannot remember the
last time you felt wanted,
remember this.

People aren't meant to say I love you.
Those three words mean
so many things but somehow
they mean nothing and eight
letters thrown together into
a combination of
lines and spaces is not an
accurate representation of feelings.

They say I love you
in the way they smile when
you laugh at their jokes and they
say it in the way they shake their head
when you make a bad pun and
they say it with every
text message in all-caps at
two twenty-four in the morning
because something incredible
just happened and they had to let you know
and they say it with every
hug and high-five and punch in the arm
and with the way your name
bounces off their tongue
like a child making poor judgement calls
on a trampoline and

they will not tell you happy birthday this year
and they will take four hours to
text you back because
they got distracted and they
will call you an *******
(because you are one, sometimes)
and eat all your lunch
without saying please or thank you
and they will
forget to tell you they love you
when they say good night,

because people are not meant to say *I love you.

There was once a small girl who sat at the park
A place of refuge when her world was in the dark
Her flowing brown hair was beginning to thin
Still nobody cared about the struggle within
Bags under her dismal eyes from such deprivation of sleep
Because she counted crunches when she couldn't count sheep
She swayed on the swings to forget all her strife
Until there came the day when she ended her life
If only someone knew that her friends had left her
Stranded like an angel fish in the middle of a desert
She wouldn't have been bothered by the pressure to be perfect
And maybe she wouldn't have thought starving was worth it