Moths that look like little girls hair bows,
I squashed you underneath that binder I used in high school band class.
It was you or me.

You want to show me
some real love,
then please,
lover of the poetic-art,
**** on my words,
keep a tight grip
on my concepts,
don't fight me,
move with my flow,
*******
with more theory,
swallow all of my stories,
don't miss a drop
& return for more.

I want you reader,
I want you really bad,
I want you to know,
it means a lot to me
you see,
your reading-actions
make me fiery-hot,
I write harder,
harder & harder.

when they say that they're
no good for you
b e l i e v e  t h e m.

i wish i could love you
gently, but the beating in my
chest is echoing like a choir
through cathedral halls
and i don't know how to think
about you quietly

(maybe, if there is a god, he
meant for our song to be
heard by heaven)

don't talk to me like her
like a fragile little girl
who wants a fairytale
talk to me
like you're running on an hour of sleep
out of breath
running late
talk to me
like you can't be bothered
and i promise you
i will love you forever.