I know that one day all we'll ever be is a collection of mismatched, unedited moments....
And I'm fine with that.








I think.

It is an unnerving cycle of my heart wanting so bad to put it all into words, and my mind thinking you don't deserve them.

And its the disappointment in their faces that gives the hardest blow.

That makes me want to run.

Because in this state I am no longer useful to them.

I am a burden

They've already got their perfect child, and I am not it.

My dreams are far to big for my limited options

My mistakes are too expensive.

And all I can do is sit and wait for the lecture to be over.

You are so incredibly, imperfectly, beautiful that it amazes me to how oblivious you are to it.

Maybe its the way your eyes light up when you talk about what you love. I know that look, its the look of a kid on Christmas Day.

Or maybe its your lips. Like rose petals they pin themselves back, showing your teeth.  As you scrunch up your nose, you give that whole hearted laugh. I'm not sure if your laughing at me, or at the moment. I guess I don't really care, I'll take what I can get.

And I've seen you at your worst. I've tried catching you. But my big eyes are not a substitute for my small hands. So maybe I'll just fall with you instead. Besides, isn't the view so much more beautiful form where you can see the whole sunset. Though you say you haven't seen the sunset in while. But, you see it everyday in the mirror. Everyday, the purples and reds and oranges reflect onto the world off your eyes.

Your eyes are funny like that. You wear that mask like its your job, but your eyes never stop telling the truth. You can't fool me, not even with the mask. I know your lies. And then there is your hands. Like velcro they seem to want to interlock with mine.

You have big hands. They can catch. Which is good. I'm terribly clumsy. I'm good at falling.

A thousand broken hearts lay at her feet...

How different it must feel, when this one is her own

He is thunder.
His laughter booming. You hear him laugh and you want to know the joke. He is hi-fives and gum and lucky pennies and songs and light and stars and dreams.

She is lighting.
She extraordinarily radiating. Lose her and you'll miss her. But catch her and you will never regret waiting to take that picture. She is pinky promises and chocolate and rain and sunsets and kisses and sand.

They are the definition of imperfectly amazing.  They are reason for Friday. They are old photographs with memories brimming at the edge. They are bonfires and hands fitting together like two long lost puzzle pieces finally reunited.

They are often mistaken

They are usually  forgotten

They are moments, they are time.

They are you, they are me

They are **us.

And I can't be mad at you because you might be as puzzled as I am

And my walls are already down

And I've spent too much time laboriously keeping them up, hiding

And perhaps it would be easier to give in

And the silence is unbearable

But am I still too weak?

To be in your arms again would be the most satisfying mistake

the sweetest of all sins

And my chest fatigues at wanting the things I cannot have like crazy

Nowadays you look at me sparingly and with an exasperating fury I know must wear you out too

And I have heard nothing but barely there questions and cut throat silence from you
I am starting to believe that you really don't care anymore and I'm wondering, does that scare you as much as it scares me? Because I am shaking in my skin, in my bones, when you shoulder blades tense up at the mere fact of my existence.

Thinking of your gentle smile, of your chocolate eyes is the **** most poetic way I've known regret and self loathing. I remember how you and I used to melt into each other but nowadays it seems like you want me to melt into the cracks in the side walks, it seems like you want me to just simply dissolve into the pavement.
                                                       ­       to disappear.

You shake your head every time I dare open this mouth you once kissed and I know **** well that I'm still pretty funny. So If my humor hasn't changed, maybe your taste in opinions has.

And I don't really know what that means yet.

To be on your lips would be the most enjoyable movement of my downfall
And you have established of being text book definition bad for me.  
You could set fire to all the poetry I wrote of you with the remnants of your burning tongue.
We have already ran circles around our new routines, you sit on the opposite side of the room farthest from the aura of my perfume and I laugh almost every time desperately trying to numb the short tempered tightness in my chest that is too stubborn to ******* leave already. You hand her your jacket and I close my eyes, humming my new favorite songs, you hand her a whiteboard and I pretend I didn't just see that smile, I know that smile, I was that smile. I close my eyes and hum a different song.

I'm starting to believe that you really don't care anymore, and the sad part is that if I really want to move on I have accept that you aren't gonna say any kind words to me from now on.  You see after the apologizing, after the anger  works its way through you, and you get real tired of fighting, all you have left is sadness and burnt up words. And I've never thought of that as any version of beautiful so anything I say just sounds repetitive.  

I'm starting to believe that your never gonna care again, and that your gonna keep hating me from an uncomfortably safe distance, and I keep wondering If that scares you as much as it scares me.
I am not impervious to your words and I hear them from everyone you've demonized me to,


                                                              ­                             and they **burn.

And all I can think about is you..

I fell in love with you when I was 13. I guess It was the thought of you. You were the universe on a pinpoint. You were everything and anything. Every eyelash fallen, every dandelion blown with the same wish. Love me, find me, be mine. I don't know exactly how the idea came to me. I was a romantic, poetic, and clueless. I couldn't help it. There were to many movies and books replaying scenes in my head. Too many hopeless love stories and happy ever afters that had been promised to me. I knew who you were. I could recognize you anywhere. I was yours and you were mine. I was young, unafraid, and in love. I fell in love at 13.

dear freshman class,

1. It doesn't always have to be the love song or the funeral march
you are not obligated nest yourself in extremes
believe me, they will tell you how classrooms feel like caskets but you are by no means decomposing

2. You are but children in a linoleum jungle, young wild things at play, you are fresh fruit, ripe but not yet forbidden. Do not rush to grow into your bones just yet, we all want that kind of wiggle room back.  

3. the seniors will leave, your boyfriend will dump you, your friends will change, but the sky will still be the sky,  the sun will still be the sun, and the world will not end. With any good day comes skinned knees, bruises and dirt, remember that.

4. Maybe you'll try out loving with an open wound, come out bitter with your teeth knocked out, come out damaged or guilty. Fifteen is an awfully inconvenient time to love someone, I'm not telling you to be afraid, you already are, all I'm saying is learn to let go as fast as you learned to hold on, accept defeat, know that people can only ruin you if you let them.

5. It will feel like getting beat down sometimes, but you too will find good use for your knuckles, for your hands, your lips, your tongue. It will feel like getting beat down sometimes but you too will find people to patch you up. People to find comfort in, people to text at 2 am, people that stay.