You can't complain about burnt hands when your hands are on the stove.

I chased you the way birds chase summer.

I stood there and watched him kiss her. And all I wanted to do was rip out her bleeding heart and wedge it between my hands, squeezing it so that in some way his pain would heal my pain.

Writing poetry at 3 AM because the drugs haven't worn off and neither have you.

This is for the people who are alone in a room full of people. For the misfits and socially awkward chipmunks. For the ones who feel empty. This is for you because it gets better. One day you will find your people. Chin up little flower.

2. This is for the girls with curly hair. This is for those of you who are too tiny to reach the top shelf or are too tall to blend in. For the gangly arms, the bruised knees. For freckled faces and crooked teeth. For the girls who hate their body. For the girls who love their body. This is for those of you who society states are not beautiful because you are not the norm. This is for the wallflowers.            

3. This is for the 3 AM romantics. For the alcoholics and the poets. For the ones who cry alone. For the people who have passion burning their soul but were not born with the ability to express it.  This is for the actors and   dancers. For the people who have music between their rib cage.          
  
4. This is for those of you who drink black coffee even though you don't like the taste. This is for red lipstick. This is for your out dated cell phone, and your NASA computer. This is for your crocs. This is for the mimers, the clowns, the people who are too scared to love themselves. Your chameleon soul is inspiring.            

5. This is for you, the reader. This is to tell you that you are not alone.

Everyday gets easier.

Everyday is a day closer to you fading from my memory.
I am getting better, I am seeing sunlight in my eyes again.
I am feeling flowers bloom between the empty spaces you left.
I am starting to recognise my reflection in the sky.
Everyday is a step closer to me being me.

Although the light has returned to my eyes and I can now smell earl grey tea and listen to red hot chilli peppers without tears stinging my eyes you have this sick way of luring me in again.

You are so good at luring me into your ocean of fake smiles and "I miss you's" your "I still love you's" hit me harder than the first time I fell for you so why do you keep drowning me without even looking back to see that I am not breathing.
I hate the way you come strolling back into my life the second my long lost happiness returns.
I hate the way that I let you.

I hate that I still love you.