I never thought I'd be
a pack a day
kind of girl.

I've seen the school assemblies,
heard my mother's shrill voice,
Don't you know what those things will do to you?
I've heard about the tar and the ash
and the cancer and the ventilators.

But there's something
about smoke curling around itself,
warm and inviting in the sharp,
snow scented air,
tiptoeing around my head
like a house cat.

There's something dangerous in
the scent of smoke on my skin,
in the taste of ash on my tongue.
Something that seems to say
I am not the kind of girl to **** around with.

It's a secret, a sly smile,
something that is all mine.
It's a destructive tendency,
it's a bad decision.
But it's mine, mine, mine
to make.

I'm not the most
put together person.
I'm really a small
hurricane of a girl.

I am not a metaphor
or a simile.
Not a ****** mystery
or a floral print dress.

I am flesh and blood,
bone and sinew.
I bend and break,
and snap back again.

I will keep you on your toes,
and never let you rest.
I will love you with everything
I have.

I will **** your marrow dry,
if you look at me the wrong way.
I am unafraid,
and I have nothing to lose.

I am a stack
of paperback books
and a broken
typewriter ribbon.

I am gale force winds,
and raindrops like steel.
I am wounded pride
and a mended fence.

I am learning to forgive myself.

I want to tell you not to make my mistake.
I want to tell you not to build walls. You pick up brick by brick, hiding yourself in the structure you've created. You feel safe until you realize you are left alone, trapped in the cage you built to be a home, standing in darkness and suffocating among walls that won't reach out to help you.
I want to tell you I understand.
I want to tell you that I often draw up blueprints for my home. When the world gets too close to me, I sketch tall ceilings above strong walls. I plan elaborate architecture. I sketch large windows that allow for sun-drenched rooms and put details on tall towers until I have a magnificent mansion, knowing all along that it's just a clever disguise for the cage I must never let myself enter. Once you go in, it's very hard to break down the walls.
I want to tell you to give up your bricks.
I want to tell you that you will feel better when you let them go. When things are hard, your hands will twitch until you grab your drafting pen, you'll still set out sheets of paper and start thinking about your walls, but you'll feel better knowing you're only making plans. I know the bricks are heavy, but you don't have to move them alone. I want to tell you to ask for help.
I want to tell you to let Him carry them away.
I want to tell you to let them go.
I want to tell you to stop pretending.
I want to tell you everything will be okay.
I hope you can hear me through your walls.
I don't think you can.

I'm so done with the worthless arguments
And the childish petty fights
I am finished being blamed for it all
I am not selfish
You have me wrong
I was a fool to think you'd ever be mature
The way you act like a **** on purpose
And your vindictive manner and combative spirit
Is more than a turn off
Hanging around you only brings tension
You were supposed to be my lover
You were supposed to be my best friend
Now you're just my enemy
It's exhausting trying to keep up with you
Everything is wrong, no matter what I do
You twist and turn nothing into something it was never intended to be
I'm sick of being thought of as always angry
It's just getting to be impossible to make you happy
I don't believe I can continue walking in your shadow
With your hurtful and harmful words beating down on me
Day after day
Night after night
Give it a rest already
Not everything is a fight

Her heart shattered
From all the hatred built up
Inside.

The prompt says,
“A person whose life you’re curious about.”
I shall use this as an opportunity to mention
******* next door.
That is his name.
He knows I mean him.

You never ******* talk about anything
And you always say I lie to you
And so what if I do?
What good is it to tell you the truth
When you never tell me anything
And I have to worm it out of you?
Why does it matter?
It just ******* matters
Because I want to know you!
And yeah I like you like that
And yeah *** with you would be quite nice
But who cares?
You haven’t told anyone else
That you’re on a break with your girlfriend;
You never really talk to anyone else.
And yeah you just friend-zoned me
At the same time as throwing out the double-entendres:
You should be in a bed,
You said
A bed, yeah, I noticed
How you phrased that
So I left
And you followed me to the door.
And I don’t think you understand what I want from you.
But yeah I do find you attractive,
And yeah I’d quite like to *******,
And yeah I was trying to creep you out by saying that
But so what?
Because you said you don’t know what you want
And again, why tell me, tell her
Surely.
Is there something you want from me?
But you said no
And yeah I think you lied.
And yeah you said I’m a good friend
And I think that’s a lie too.
And I’m waiting for us to fall out again
Just like when you apologised
And I asked why
So you said next time you wouldn’t bother.
And then you didn’t reply
When I said you’re not any more special than anyone else.
And it’s just like when I said I didn’t think you liked me at all;
You got offended.
And yeah I like you
But so what?
I’m not trying to get in the way of anything;
Do what you want,
It’s your life,
I’m just curious.
And why text me of all people?
Of course I don’t know
But did you text the other girls
So much over the holidays
Really?
Decide what you want.
You know what I want.
I don’t mind being friend-zoned
If that’s all you want
But I don’t think it’s all you want.
I just think you need to decide
If you do ‘love’ her.
And did I have something to do with it?
Was it on the 5th?
Is that why you were mad at me?
Why did you take it out on me?
Yeah I can be over-sensitive
But you can be a ****.
Sometimes you’re such a child.
And you say I need to grow up
But so do you.
And, God, I’d really like to do you
Which is why it’s so ******* complicated!
So yeah I’m trying to get over you.
And you ask what I’m thinking and it’s nothing
But you don’t believe me
And why not?
It’s the truth.
And whenever I’m around you
Yeah you ******* terrify me
Because I’ve never wanted someone this much
And you’re only next door
And did I ever tell you I love your hugs
And the way you smell
And your hands
And isn’t that really ******* creepy?
But at the same time
I hate how you patronise me
And tease me
Just because I’ll react badly
And yeah you’re a bully
And yeah you treat me like **** sometimes
But somehow I forgive you
Because when everything's fine,
It’s really fine.
I just wish you weren’t so much of an ****,
Or at least I wish I knew why you’re so much of an ****.
And basically, that’s what goes on in my head.

Every time I see you.

Your turn.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

Sometimes
You
Just
Have
To
Kind
Of
Exist
So
Maybe
One
Day
You
Can
Live.

But
I
Have
This
Urge
To
Exist
Until
My
Walls
Crash
Down.