then i cut.
i have no flowery adjectives to romanticize it.
but i know that's what they want.

i don't know why i'm crying
guess my body is just used to it
now it's my nightly routine
how i wipe off my makeup
every night

my humanity is slipping
as i become my numbers
give me one more like

Tell me, gracious
of what do you know
the girl who i was
long long ago
whose long, brown hair
danced to and fro
in weather when birds wouldn't sing

Have you heard of her
kind green eyes
an innocent heart
incapable of lies
how everyday she tries and tries
to play with those kids in the street

Did they tell you
how i used to play
before some creepy man
took my innocence away
before i cried on the floor
and prayed and prayed
that someone would come and save me

Do you recall
before i couldn't eat
before one, small apple
was a "special treat"
as the doctor told me to take a seat
and asked when my starving would end

Remember before
my heart was broken
by senior boys
with lovely words spoken
and crushed into pieces
they kept as a token
of how i was defeated

But that girl has not grown
as i have now
cannot say confidently
that she earned her crown
although all the suffering
did wear her down
i built myself back up

heartbreak always is the theme,
lots of pain, a poet's dream
the lies and tears, they rip my seam
my guts are spilling out

I have been lying for so long.
I have masked the ugly parts of myself that make me who I am.
Because to write about these things,
would not be as beautiful to read.
I wouldn't be a poet, I'd be psychotic.
Truth is, I am not "poetry".
I am not "romance".
I am just dramatic as ****.
"He" was never mine.
I was a freshman, "he" was a senior.
I wasn't "in love", I was obsessed.
"He" didn't break me, I did.
And I just never got over it.

she is poetry and romance
this, i know, is true
but does she see poetry like i
in every crevice of you?

the thoughts in my head are moving on
the pen in my hand is not
maybe everything is a little more complicated
than you and i had thought

Because when I'm not with you,
I'm thinking about being with you.
Because when I see you,
every muscle in my body,
every sense, is awakened.
Because I don't care
for anything else.
Because, I told her,
I would never leave this town,
I would never make my dream,
I would carry my troubles
heavy on my shoulders,
I would work until my knuckles bled,
I'd go hungry,
I'd go sleepless,
I'd shed my skin a million times,
I'd take on a million faces,
I'd break and fall and hurt and cry
if it meant that I could do it all with you.

i didn't know how i felt until she said
"why him?"
and then i remembered.
i remembered everything.

i'm ripping out my hair.
i like the way it snaps.
crack crack
and so it breaks.
sounds familiar

the cruelest thing
you've ever done
not lead me on, to turn and run
nor call me back, to which I'll come
but to look at me when you kissed her.

We were never as beautiful
as i wrote us out to be
The thorn so sharp was from a rose?
No, just a lie made by me

And how you said you loved me
well, that was just untrue
But somehow i heard it
in every moment
that i laid next to you

How our petals
fell with grace
as time drove slowly by
Now we stand here
face to face
Why did you let me die?

you sealed it tight
within your tank
and put it on display
it sank to the floor
forced to entertain
the bystanders that day

you didn't like
how it wouldn't act
or sing or dance with glee
and everyone had come around
as there was "a show to see"

but it refused to comply
with your cruel and selfish ways
and so you locked the tank forever
where I'll live out my days

maybe it's okay that there's places we'll never go.
things we'll never see, people we'll never meet.
everything is more beautiful inside my head anyways.

the ones who write most eloquently
are not a product of fine-tuned education,
rather,
they are the ones
chosen to feel the most
to take every hit
as a blow
and effectively describe
this feeling
to those blind of heart
as the blind don't lack the humanity
nor the soul
simply they have morphine

i know i'm in love
because i want everything to smell like you
even though
i don't know what you smell like
yet

but he is fiction
when i wanted history.

when all the poems have already been written
and the emotions that bite have already been bitten
what will become of us then?
us romantic souls with our tongue-twister tales
prisoners that will turn into men

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Oh dearie, how I long to be everything.
I want to be the moonlight, streaming down from the heavens unto a loner's cabin high in the forest. My beams caress each plank and stone- lightly touching, deeply moving. And when the loner looks out from his cabin high in the forest, up towards my beams from heaven, he'll realize he's not so alone.
I want to be the glass of an apartment window, overlooking the lives of those too busy looking down. Someone has to watch over them, so here I am, in honest transparency. Yet I belong to something greater, the primary memories of a young child, raised by her mother in this small apartment. And when the beauty through my glass catches her eye, that's when the dreaming will start.
I want to be the wire that clumsy teens trip over, bustling through the halls of a low-budget high school. When their heads are forced upwards, and balance is found, they will realize they are still standing. And they will be glad to be standing one more day.
There is so much I long to be.
And yet, there is so little time.

I don't want to see the world.
I just want to be with someone that makes me feel like I already am.

She just needs someone to hold
so she'll grab unto anything
a pack of cigarettes
a  lighter
anything warm
anything
The filter
will graze her skin
like no fingers
ever have
and the flick
of her thumb
on the greased metal
will light a flame
the only warmth she's ever known
And she'll light up
And she'll breath in
wishing the smoke
would never come out
that it would fill her up
make her tingle
make her warm
like no one ever would

details of my life
won't turn a stranger's head
neither would the 411
of who's sleeping in my bed
to them i am a picture
of what they see so plain
to them it doesn't matter
to whom i give my name
i am nothing to the man
that plants his crop and seed
i am nothing to the woman
who works tirelessly at her weave
i am nothing to the folk
that bake and craft galore
but to myself i am best friend,
lover and so much more

like buying new shoes
finding what clinical issue
fits right
to describe what i am feeling
when i cry every night

in the corner of the library
atop smooth, white tiles
lied a girl curled and primed,
who hadn't heard of a smile.
she sat there and pondered
what it means to know love
to have a warm hand to hold
and be free as a dove.
deep in the shadows
the princess did wait
with no prince to save her
it became too late.

the only thing
that keeps me alive anymore
is the beauty;
beauty that snaps heads
uncomfortable beauty
inexplicable beauty
the kind you want to latch onto forever
if only you didn't blink every five seconds,
beauty that reminds your soul
what it means to be alive.
the beauty can be anything
and beauty is everything
and my beauty
shone with his

I feel asleep
dreaming of you
Now I'm in love,
what do I do?

the loneliest people

gravitate towards big cities
crowded streets, family you never had
human warmth once lacked
filling up your field view
so you can't see
the emptiness
you hide

I crave bad things
smoke and heartbreak
cuts along my thighs
romanticized pain
because that's what they don't want
what they don't want
is what I am

either i be perfect
or i be poison
the eyes of an extremist
are always more fun

i will cry
but tears will dry
and i will serve my time

-smash the telephone,
  make sure it hits hard pavement
  1,000 piece minimum

-tilt lit candle
  onto wooden countertop
  maybe make smores?

-smear sephora
  ****** words
  painted on windows of the honda

-find out
  what sledding through the window
  really feels like

-use the car keys
  as if they were wings
  up up & away

-be the girl
  who runs away
  to start her life

don't cry because he didn't love you
nor because you sit alone
biding away
between meaningless breaks
in an endless day
not because they never saw
never looked
far enough
inside your mind

cry because they love too much
because every text and tweet
and shout in the hall
those whispers in you ear
had never known love
they abuse "love"
throw it around
like amateur middle-schoolers
playing catch

cry because you know
nothing other than this "love"
and too much to accept it

i have filled pages
with your name in every symbol
what a waste of paper

the candle flickering
on the shelf
makes invisible winds
invisible smells
which i breathe in
and then breathe out
all while thinking
about myself
and the sorrows that i bring

i want to breathe the smoke through my lungs
the sting is so romantic