i cant throw my body into the arms of another.
my tendons
the ligaments, the muscles
my heatstrings lie in tatters between your teeth.
                                     behind lips that never
                                     had a nice word for me.
and if i wasnt so sad
to find the pity in this prose
id of thought im happy
                                                *though i guess im not, i suppose.

do you love me?
or
are you in love with me?
cause theres a big difference
and if you don't know it
I don't want to know
because that means
you probably just love me
you're not in love with me
and I'm in love with you

I asked someone
In a serene manner,
"Why so serious?"
I received a full throated reply,
"Should I act like a child then,
The way you do!?"
I gave a poise reply
With a gentle smile,
*"I certainly do not act like a child,
But the child within
Teaches me to live,
Not to simply survive."

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

Why should you limit yourself to being just pretty?
Don't be just pretty.

Be a storm, beautiful, dark, intelligence flashing across your eyes like lightning and a voice as loud as thunder. Be a storm and never be silent.

Be a forest, rooted, wise, strong and unmovable in the force of opposition and yet a dancer in the wind. Be a forest, and loyal to your land.

Be the ocean, glittering, mysterious, captivating thousands of hearts and countless lives in your allure. Be the ocean, and be ruthless.

Be nature. I guarantee nothing will get you farther.