this life is not always about our dreams that are expected

instead the reality of our life becomes merely accepted

it's not wonderful nor is it bad

something about realization is sad

we just accept the mediocrities

when we wish to attain our wildest abilities

i was touched.

countless times, i was touched.

in between my thin legs, i was touched.

you...

you...

you...

you... you touched me.

did it make you feel good?

to do that to an eight year old?

grandpa?

no you...

you don't deserve that title...

fred?

did it make you feel good?

why?

and was that a good enough reason?

to touch me...

your own granddaughter...

you touched in between my thin legs.

did it make you feel good?

to touch me in such a ****** way...

you touched me countless times,

i, your grandaughter, was touched.

i was touched by you.

lift me up higher,

to a place where i can touch the heavens

if not the heavens, then at least the stars

if not the stars, then the clouds could do

if not the clouds, then you should not

you should not lift me up,

instead put me down,

if you should choose to put me down darling,

all i ask is that you do so,

you should do so gently.

people say I'm lucky to be seventeen.
because back then they were all young and lean.
people say at the ripe age of seventeen.
well they felt like they had everything.
all was good.
because things just should.
but do you remember being seventeen?
it feels like a movie scene.
we laugh, we cry.
sometimes we just want to die.
we want room to breathe.
but everybody wants to make us seethe.
it gets really tough.
so we try to act rough.
oh seventeen.
stop acting mature, stop being so keen.
seventeen.

i think you ought to know

about my first memories in the snow

the cold icicles were held by a tree

while inside grandma was brewing a kettle of tea

because outside the frost was out to bite

the powder-covered trees were a sight

mr. snowman was built

while my young knees were on the ground, knelt

something about that snow

it is an ode to a time that was far from so-so

sometimes i look at you across the room and feel.
i cannot quite pinpoint what it is.
my heart thumps around wildly, skipping beats.
my brain feels numb in a daze.
my soul, it's singing about your eyes.
something about this feeling isn't a typical kind of love.
it's much, much more than that.
it's passion, fire, and our end.
i often think it's because i love you that i don't pursue you.
but it's actually fear.
it's that i'm afraid you'll love me too much and my lust will end.
i cannot break something as beautiful as you.
i cannot help you rebuild after i burn the home your soul resides in.
for it is not our home.
it's your home and i'm just the pillow on the left side of your bed, the sappy things in your drawer, the five photos on your fireplace, the one note in your wallet.
it can never be us, because it is you and me.
i won't treasure you, i'll throw you away just like you'll throw away my things once i leave.
so as i look at you across the room and feel something, look away.
because i am your future.
i am your heartbreak.
i feel what you feel even though i don't feel the same way.
i feel your heartache.
and am selfish for wanting you while seeing the future
i know it
and for that,
i am sorry