I write
           Words
In odd places
  In ways
                   And in times
For a reader
            Who
    Plays
         With the rhymes in
Their minds as
      They wish for a lover
A beginning
An end
To rid of their enemy, beloved

And friend.

While i write
         These words
      In bla
Ck and whi
Te.  
You
       Will
                See the colours of your own

flight

Have you ever sat and realized
that birds sing for themselves
that trees werent made for paper
that you werent made for me?

Have you ever sat and asked yourself
how many times have you cried
how many times have you laughed
how many times have you fallen in love

Have you ever sat and sobbed
about her
about you
about me

Have you ever let the wind take your hair
without pulling it back behind your ear?
I believe your hair is pretty when it's free

I think for a moment, it belongs to
the world
to the birds
to the sand
to the waters
and to me.

the day i get an invitation to your wedding and it tells me to wear white, i'll wear black, and when you ask me why i'll tell you that i feel like i'm attending my own funeral.

i'll sit there and wonder if you ever hear the sound of broken promises resounding like church bells at a wedding for people that weren't meant to be?

when you're standing at the altar saying vows they'll sound like death threats to my ears. you'll look at me and mouth the words "im sorry" like pulled back triggers on a gun.

i'll remember i was bulletproof until your eyes looked at mine, and then i became the biggest target in the room, and this is why you'll always be a lesson in broken hearts.

i loved you like a forest fire that was out of control, like there were a million firefighters trying to put out the spark we had and someone just kept adding fuel to the fire.

i tried so hard to conceal my butterflies like lighters , unaware that you'd already stolen them from my pockets and extinguished any idea that things could've ever been different between us.

now i understand i was just a broken metaphor to you and it makes me mad that i used to spend most of my time of daydreaming that maybe i'd be the person you spend your last breath saying "i love you" to.

when its asked if anyone has any objections i'll smile and say, "i loved him to," and just like you did, i'll walk away.

you are a seventeen year old girl.
you have blonde and brown hair.
you drive and old truck.

you are a girl that cries at night.
you are a girl that lost a wonderful man.
you are a girl that deserves the world.
scratch that,
you deserve the universe.

I am a girl who loves the girl I am writing about.

we are just two girls looking for our place
in this world.

1 minute later,
you're hysterical.
you're sobbing and it hurts so much.
your heart has been ripped out.

1 year later,
you've been crying every night of the year.
you're numb on the inside.
you're forgetting her features,
and it hurts.

2 years later,
you're sitting here,
writing this poem.
you've been missing her;
talking about her is easier now.
you still think of her,
and things still remind you of her.
but things are okay.
I remember you're there in that beautiful garden,
and I smile.

2 years later,
I'm finally okay.
((moderately))

Don't make promises
Promises just become lies
When you are this young.