I can spend my whole life reaching for stars
only to be disappointed to find palms full of nothing but air,

As I grew up I learned that stars will never
provide me with the fuel I need to fill my lungs,
only air can do that.

But I still catch myself reaching for stars.
I still catch myself reaching for him sometimes,
even though there's no point.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

if fate is written in the stars
they have two weeks to conjure up a plan
that erases state lines and keeps us together.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

june 10, 2014*

his eyes are like grey marbles,
sprinkled with green ivy.
his hair is like sunkissed ocean waves ,
his hands are tsunamis.
he's beautiful and dangerous,
his hands leave the ocean screaming;
his voice ***** like the water hitting the shore
-it acts as a nerve, 'cause I can't help but smile.

when he sings he sings out of tune,
but even still the birds are in awe;

how can something so disastrous be so beautiful?
how can something so right be so wrong?

(NJ2014) all rights reserved.

june 10, 2014*

my head in his lap,
his eyes gazing in mine,
playful fighting,

his finger runs down my arm,
and his arms wrap around me
keeping me captive -keeping me close,
his fingers interlock with mine,
and he opened the cage,
and let the butterflies roam free.

but his eyes are red,
and his breath smells of cigarettes and alcohol;
he could never love me as much as he loves life
when he is drowning by the bottle.

but god, he is beautiful.
and god, how much I'm going to hurt.

(NJ2014) all rights reserved.

june 10, 2014

what was I  thinking?
a boy who doesn't care about anything,
could never care about me.

how did I expect him to hold me
as tightly as he did that cigarette?
I'm not a flame that burns out,
and when he realized that,
he smashed me on the ground.

I am not a flame that burns out.

I'll submerge the world before me in flames,
and destroy all of which once existed;
there will be no more remains of you and me
except in my memory, god, please take it away from me*

what was I thinking.
oh, what was I thinking.

(NJ2014) all rights reserved.

febuary 11, 2014*

sometimes I find myself
talking to the wall;
but if someone were to catch me,
I'd say I was talking to your ghost.

Though your presence seems dead,
you are still alive to me.

I've kissed you,
and held your hand,
and comforted you,

only to realize,
you're nothing but a blank white wall.

(NJ2014) all rights reserved.

You made me feel like I was just another girl,
I know you have notebooks full of rows and the details,
but I was hoping I would be the last of them
turns out I just ended the page and you flipped it to start again.

I never thought we would ever say goodbye,
I guess I was right because it ended with goodnight.

I never saw your eyes again
or held the hands you scarred me with
or wrapped myself in your arms,
or kissed the lips you'd breathe me in with,
you always teased me with it.

You smoked me out,
remains of an ashtray now.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

every-time we're in his room i forget to take my water-bottles along with me. if water-bottles were of any value, he would have a million dollar collection. he's the first boy i've ever made direct eye-contact with intentionally - i'm not sure if he's noticed, but it's become more of a synonym for 'kiss me please' than anything else. sometimes he catches the hint.

if i want his attention, all i have to do is pick up my phone -he seems to notice that even when his ears are deafened by the media on his laptop screen. i speak more with my eyes than my mouth - often my eyes will be closed if i'm disinterested; i'd rather create my own little world and enjoy it than destroy what he's enjoying at the moment. so i stay quiet. so i close my eyes. he thinks i fall asleep a lot.

when i want him to hold me i inch away, he always seems to pull me back in, and i never really say what i mean to, i just slow down my pronunciation. i run my fingers down his spine when i'm thinking about making out with him, and sometimes, i say 'i love you,' but like i said, i don't tend to speak much. i say it with my eyes. he never notices. i think i like it that way.


[NJ2015] [All Rights Reserved]

your smoke lingers on my clothes longer than you linger in my life,
and I cannot rinse, wash, and repeat the cleaning process
to rid the stain of you from my mind as I can the stench of your cigarettes.

the first time I met you I mixed the harsh colour of you
with my white dedicates -and now I wear a cloudy grey.
my eyes have been washed out so many times
they're a new shade of brown I've never seen before.

I can't tumble dry the stained marble of my eyes
and I can't fold my sanity as neatly as I can my shirt;
and I can't put you at the back of my closest until I forget you exist.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

he comes to me at three in the morning,
my hair a mess, my feet in slippers,
my attire dingy, but my eyes sparkling.

drunk and tired, hiding behind a tree
so my father won't see; he holds me;
light drizzle and cigarette smoke,
hazy eyes and alcohol breath;
trying to make the best of it.

he's no romeo, and i'm no juliet;
but my parents are Capulets
and he's the dangerous boy
involved with their princess.

sitting beneath a tree
at three in the morning,
no place i'd rather be;

he's no romeo,
but he's all i need.

All Rights Reserved (NJ2015)

i have so much to say,
but don't know how to say it,
I want to cry my troubles away,
but my eyes just won't convey it;

i'm scared. absolutely terrified,
and this time i can't make it poetic.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

You could say I'm selfish,
I know you're not right for me,
and I know she loves you,
and I know you love her too,
but I still want you.

You could say I'm careless,
because I know the mess I'm getting into,
and I know my father won't necessarily like you,
and I know you could never like me the way I want you to,
but I still want you.

You could say I'm fatal to myself
because I know you're going to hurt me again,
and I know that there will be an end,
and I know that you can't ever love me,
but I still want you.

You're everything I am not,
maybe that's why I want you;
to live in a world separate from my own.

Maybe I want you,
or maybe I'm just selfish.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

I've learned to love myself for everything that I am -including, and especially, my weird little quirks.

I'm the girl who laughs a little too loud at newspaper comics, and has to take a picture everything that has ever made me happy; whether it be taking a photo of my coffee in my favorite cafe, or taking a photo of the typical average looking field that I happen to be laying in the grass of. My mouth tends to run one-hundred mph when I'm speaking about something I'm passionate about, and more often than not I will probably stutter my words, or stray off subject the minute I remember something slightly alike to the story.

I have a tendency to believe in 'gut feeling' a little too much when it comes to people and their abilities; I put a little too much faith, a little too much effort; and become a little too much overall for anyone I feel 'connected' to, but thats okay. I avoid company, but hate being alone; I'd rather be in groups of three, and more often than not, unless I've taken a great liking to you, one & one interaction makes me uncomfortable. I try to make everyone happy to a fault, and worry a little too much about how my choices influence the next event, and the next event, and the next event.... I romanticize the thought of some people, and don't give others the time of day they probably deserve -but that's okay. My greatest weakness, yet best quality is my ability to romanticize simple moments.

I view everything in my life through foggy glasses and romanticize -everything- and it's absolutely ridiculous; but the time you laughed a little too loud, or danced a little bit out of tune, to me is probably beautiful, and I've probably already written a sappy love poem about it.
I daydream a little more than I should, and I have my entire future planned out right down to the rocking chair on the porch of my house by the lake, yet I can't tell you what I plan to eat for dinner in two hours.

There's so much more to me than I'm willing to write, because to know me is a journey I wouldn't want to spoil. Call me arrogant, call me weird; but I've learned what it means to love myself.

I'm a ******* mess, but god, I wouldn't want to be anything else.

NJ2016

Mr. Stephen Glass,

i understand now,
you wrote to escape,
you tried to convince yourself it could be real,
by convincing everyone else that it was too.
it's okay to disappear into your own world,
it's okay to try and make your dream reality.
it wasn't deception, it was real to you,
and it would've been real to them if they believed,
it would've been real if they kept steady perception.

Mr. Glass,
I learned the hard way too.
reality has left me stranded me as well.
I understand.

Mr. Glass,
have you found a way to live with yourself again?
I'm in the purgatory of reality and dreams,
I don't know where to fall, I'm already shattered.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

how can you say you like me,
when you never take the chance to get to know me.

we've been talking for ten months,
I bet you can't even tell me what my favourite colour is.
(yours is black.)

do you know that there is an entire world inside my head,
do you understand that I am barely conscious of reality?
I'm lost inside of this daydream, and I have been for quite some time.
why haven't you knocked? did you even look at the key I handed you?

I'm trying to explain to you that the world is spinning
that the flowers are growing an inch a minute,
and youre laying back on your bed, eyes closed,
laughing saying that the world is stable or you'd be spinning,
said that it's winter, flowers aren't even growing,
(the vines are strangling me. I'm screaming for help. but it's alright, it's alright. close your eyes and hide behind your cigarette smoke.)

you took out a cigarette and opened the window
because you knew that I don't like the smell of the smoke,
you placed a blanket over my shivering body
and I thought you were the sweetest thing,
I thought I was lucky,

but I wouldn't be struggling to breathe,
my bones wouldn't be shaking with the wind,
if it wasn't for you.

I may be lost in my own world,
but it seems so are you.
the only difference is I've tried to give you the key,
and you only seem to lock me out in the cold.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

after eighteen years, i still feel my life has not yet begun;
'most of objects in mirror may be closer than they appear,'
i really hope the rules of a side-view mirror
are the same rules of my future;

cause i'm driving down this quiet road,
a little lost, a little alone.

N.J

I've never been anything more than almost.
Almost his. Almost gone. Almost there.
There's comfort in 'not quite.'
You can't exactly lose something you never had, right?
(Almost, not quite.)

I have never gained, but I have lost.
I've learned that losing a winning silver
hurts more than losing a hand-me down gold;

To lose the gold is to lose a gift,
to lose the silver is to lose award;
if I put my all in something, isn't it right to say I deserved it?

Sometimes you work so hard you deserve gold,
but you only get silver;
if that isn't unfair enough,
sometimes you don't get any.

I've learned that people are not metals;
and you could put the effort of gold into someone
and only receive the silver of them;
and even still, they may not deem you the winner.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I want to live a life where I can wake up
every morning to the sun rising over the ocean,
and a place I can watch the sun set over a forest.

I want to have a German Shepard jumping at my feet
when I open the door and get back from work
work -nothing extraordinary, just something enjoyable.

I want to be able to kiss my significant other
and run my hands through his messy hair
and hear his sleepy voice tell me he loves me
just as much as I love him.

I want a simple life,
but simple seems to be the new complicated.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

all the mornings he woke me up drunk
to walk to his house,
were because when he was sober,
and the day got later,
he had much better things to do,
than watch time slow down in my eyes.

NR2015

How can you look into my eyes and tell me you care
when your gaze is burning holes in my brain?
You held me close and ran your fingers, searching for delicacy;
I thought it was because you wanted to protect me,
you knew it as a way to control me.

When you locked your hands in mine,
you said you promised you'd never leave;
I didn't know you meant it figuratively;
please, stop haunting me.

You spoke sweet nothings,
made me smile, made me happy,
but I only soon found that they were just that:
sweet, bitter, sugar-coated
empty words of nothing.

How can you hold my hand
and dig your nails so deep
into the creases of my fingers
and invade my blood-stream

only to tell me to forget you.

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.

Im going way up, success higher than you'll ever be, tryna **** the pain, but babe, you're your biggest enemy. I tried to help you through it, tried to be your biggest fan, tried to hear the music, but the **** just wasn't there.

See, I couldn't get anywhere with your weight on top  -wait you were always on the bottom -oops, I forgot, we're talking about your pride and your selfish ways -I was a ******* angel living in your hellish daze.

Don't get me wrong, I loved you from the very start, but the best thing you've ever done for me was "break" this heart. You shot me where it hurts, left me bleeding out, and now you 'bout to feel that kickback while I resurrect.

Stronger than ever, broken but rising like the sun, everything I'm doing is leading me to number 1. I thought you was protecting me, but you were holding me back. I could've loved you for ever, thanks for saving me from that.

I want to thank you for all that you've done to me cause now I know what I need. I know what I need. I love who you used to be, and now you're no good to me. so, i'm gone.

NJ2016

we were driving through the night
your eyes fixated on the road,
and mine on my fumbling hands,

you were singing to the radio
your favourite song on blast,
I don't know what I said,
but it caused you to laugh.

I don't know where I'm going with this,
but by god, you've got a beautiful smile,
and I felt beautiful just looking at you,
why don't you smile more?

You've got sad eyes
and you're always looking away,
and when you held my hand
I didn't want it to break

but when you smiled,
everything was okay,
nothing else existed.

You should smile more,
I didn't fall in love today,
but I think I might someday.

(NJ 2015) (All Rights Reserved)

Sorting through the negatives can get tiresome.
one after another after another after another,
but one day you'll come across a frame unlike the rest
and that photograph, that scenery, that image
makes it worth the while.

NJ (All Rights Reserved)

spring cleaning in the form of blasting your bands music
while i pick up the clothes that smell like him.

spring cleaning in the form of replaying the day I walked away
over and over in my head as if to erase all that happened afterwards.

spring cleaning in the form of taking all the poetry I wrote about you,
and scrambling them up to mean something entirely different.

spring cleaning in the form of endless shampooing,
to rid the touch of your hands from my hair.

spring cleaning in the form of disposing all memories made in winter.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

For five years you were the weight on my shoulders,
the blindfold over my eyes, and the holder of my heart.
Today you are nothing -we are strangers.
Do you ever think about me?

Sometimes I feel like it never happened,
You and I feel like a distant dream.
I don't think I ever truly knew you.
I can't even imagine a time with you anymore;
it all seems like a figment of my imagination.

The day we ran all the way to the restaurant in the pouring rain,
just to find out they were closed.
The day I leaned on your shoulder,
and we fogged up your father's car windows.
The day you held me for the first time.
It all seems like some faint memory of an old movie.

Remember the story of the bird we created?
How we spoke vicariously through the innocent bird
hiding under the tree to shelter itself from the storm?
I don't quite remember anything
except it was significant at one point.

I used to remember it so vividly.
Our memories are fading.
Does that scare you?
I'm not sure how I feel about it.

This may be a different story,
but I feel like I was a bird,
and you were a birdhouse with the door locked,
I'm glad I eventually found the strength to fly away.

Do you ever run your fingers over the scratches I left,
or have you refurnished over them?

So why do I tell you I miss you,
when I feel nothing at all?
And why does it hurt
when you don't respond?

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

I want to say I'm an unopened novel on your bookshelf,
but that would mean I'm the Harry Potter series
(if I remember correctly)
and I might be, I wouldn't know -I've never read them,
but I've been in your hands enough to be a bit worn,
and there could've been so many chapters of us
if you had just opened the first book.

I'm an encyclopedia of a subject
you never got interested enough to read;
so much information, so much to learn
but my cover is plain, and my words are complicated
and there's magazines on your brother's dresser
of beautiful girls and little words,
so why would you ever waste time on me?

But I'm a wine-box full of scripted letters never sent,
and you're downing liquor as if to forget something,
and I hope you never try to forget me.

I wish you downed me like you did of that bottle,
but like old-wine, my cork was tight
and you didn't have the patience to open me.
Old wine has more flavour,
at the surface I'm sober;
at the core, I'm drunk.

We could've fallen in love
if we had taken the time to learn each-other;
but we started as strangers, and ended as strangers,
except now I'm left collecting dust on my own shelf.

I've been writing letters to a stranger
I swear I could have loved.

(NJ2014) (© All Rights Reserved)

There's something about your smile that frightened me,
all of the sudden the butterflies I've long since released -came back,
but not in the same way, this time, they weren't fighting;
they seemed as if to be fluttering around comfortably.

Your laughter is subtle,
but it was loud enough to scare away most of the shaking in my bones,
loud enough to draw my attention to your face, your eyes;
for a moment we made eye-contact, but I couldn't hold it.

They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul,
I don't trust the gate-keeper,
and so I quickly lock my eyes to the ground.
What would you think if I told you that I, for a millisecond,
thought you were the greatest thing in the world?

I didn't want the night to end,
but the sun will surely rise.
And we are clouds just floating by time after time.
Maybe it's best, you can't lose what lingers,
but I'm thinking of lighting up the sky with you,
thinking of being the wake-up call for the early-birds with you.

What would you say if I told you
I wanted to do nothing, and everything, with you?

(NJ2014)  ©All Rights Reserved

I used to hate the smell of cigarettes,
until it became the smell of you.

Now I cover my mouth,
I cover my nose,
and bathe in your smoke.

Suffocating, but it's okay.
I'd rather suffocate in your arms
than have time very slowly take my breath away.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

Suitcases of the past flooding from my closet
burying you beneath it;
I am sorry.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

Darkness teases and invades,
the sun runs away.
Stars stay the night,
but leave with morning light.
The sun not screams with jealousy
but hides behind the mountains;
the moon shines in the dark,
but even still can't hide his crescent
-half there, half empty- heart.

And though the moon spends his night with the stars,
by morning he's back to chasing the one he's always loved;
but he'll never admit that she's the one,
he'd rather hide behind the mountain until she comes up.

The sun and moon are more than friends.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I discovered that the sunrise is almost more beautiful than the sunset;
the colours are so vivid, so expressive in comparison to the black night;
the sunset changes the colour of the sky, the sunrise invents colours.

More often than usual I catch the sunsetting rather than rising;
the early hours of the rising sun are the setting time of my eyelids,
- but by god, when I am awake to see it, I'm lost for a moment.

I have a history of comparing past lovers to sunsets;
each one I described as beautiful, breath-taking,
and unfortunately, each has been buried behind mountains as well.

I wait for a love that'll have me singing with the birds at six in the morning, that'll have me peacefully resting before the clock strikes twelve - I wait for the boy that I compare to sunsets, the boy that will no longer just be a metaphor for the setting sun, but the true sun.

The boy that will be the sun, both setting and rising.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

I like to think the sun has it's moments of strengths,
along with it's moments of weakness.

There's times when he's on top of the word,
shining brighter than ever, striking everyone's eyes.
At these times, he knows he is setting,
but the sky is his stage, and he's ready to put on his best show.

Other times, he's fragile and broken.
The sky, his cheeks, in which tears stream,
lightening the colours into soft pastels;
his complexion a blushing pink,
eyes a subdued blue with splashes of gold cries.

Even beautiful things have their days,
but even at their times of struggle,
though they feel not adequate,
dependent on perception,
there's someone who
finds them beautiful
beyond belief.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

there are no surgeon general warnings
about boys with sunlight eyes and dark voices,
of boys who speak meaningless words and irrational sentences
in such a way that even the greatest philosopher
would secondguess himself.

with a voice that colours silence,
and a gaze like the moon lights the night sky,
his glare will turn your head into a meteorshower,
thoughts colliding, breaking, seperating.

it's his third cigarette, and smoke is clouding up the room,
he closes his eyes, exhales the nicotine carelessly,
leaning against the wall, so at peace,
and all you can do is happily drown,
your self-control more intoxicated than his lungs.

the blinds revealing whats left of the sunlight on white walls,
scattered light, faded patterns -faded thoughts
you love the sunset, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

cigarettes and cigars are labeled with warnings,
'may 'cause heart disease'
but they forget to label the boys that leave you breathless,
the boys that hold your heart in one hand, and a cigarette in another;
the boys the know the best way to set something on fire for pleasure.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

A new disease called madness and I'm it's current victim; setting my teeth into the veins of those whose blood run cold around me -can't you feel this fire burning behind my eyes? My lips are poisoned and I'm trying to infect you -get you addicted so that you can't leave me.

Take me away from these white walls and white sheets,
my head is spinning with all of the colours I can not see;
am I hallucinating or can I see beneath the painted cage?

There's a new drug called infatuation and I'm addicted;
they said it would take away the madness, but it only enhanced it.
Spend a night with me, take a shot of these words,
drown them until they sit heavily in your stomach.

Follow me into my madness,
and you'll understand why it drives me crazy,
but I never want to leave.

Let's get crazy.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

He's the boy with messy blonde hair and emerald eyes;
the kind that can make you blind after some time.
I wish I had known that before I made space for him
on the shelf I call my heart.
His hands were strong, yet gentle,
and they traced every curve
without leaving a mark.

I'm the girl with obviously styled hair, and brown eyes;
in time's company I'm a stranger -so I must always try
to look my best even when I want to cry.

I found myself holding this novel of a boy in my hands,
and quickly much too quickly fell into the pages;
excitement tore the corner of the sheet,
a scar formed on his nose,
and I joked with him
you can't forget me because I've made my mark.

But behind every light giggle there is a truth;
behind every highlighted sentence there is reason.

Here I am physically unscarred by this boy with emerald eyes,
but each night I find myself wondering why he left without a goodbye.
I could only hope that if I was unable to leave an impression
that maybe he will come across the bookmarked page,
the teared sheet and remember me.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

teenage lust in the form of him helping you undress,
but not lifting a finger to help you re-clothe.

teenage lust in the form of his hands navigating the galaxy of your skin, but straying from the black hole that is your mind.

teenage lust in the form of learning pluto isn't a planet
even after believing it was for so long.

teenage lust in the form of her experiencing
that of an event horizon
while he's orbiting other planets.

teenage lust,
you don't touch my soul.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

he took off his dress shirt,
tossed away his gold tie,
danced away the whole night
in a white t-shirt
and I couldn't help but smile
at that boy the whole time
all these other formal lookers,
but they're not what i like;

'cause there he is dancing
in a five star restaurant
in nothing but some black slacks
and a wrinkled white t-shirt,

and i know that it's crazy,
but he's the one that i want:
i'm breaking the rules,
and i want to get caught.

[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved

You're a locked door with the sign 'do not enter,'
but there are duplicates of the key you lent out once.
The sky becomes a blanket, and the sun is no longer out;
and strangers come through the door -gone by morning.

There's only so much company that can be found in an empty bottle,
so you make it two empty bottles, and grab an empty hand
and dance under the flawed moon,
and like an hourglass fall slowly into familiarity
-by morning you're left with the same empty feeling
(and a terrible headache.)

They come waltzing in uninvited,
friends of the unconscious mind,
and enemies to the sober.

You're a locked door with the sign 'do not enter,'
if I was offered the key I would not take it.
I patiently knock.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

love is more than just a language between two people.
it's several phrases, actions, and words
foreign endeavors and behaviors,
thoughts,
all together as one.

as those speaking acts of love,
we expect those we speak to
to understand.

but we all speak different forms of love;
compatibility of such revelations are misunderstood.

love is an adventure
a search for whose language of love,
though different from one's own,
can be interpreted and understood;
and wished to be learned.

though to learn a love is easy,
to comprehend anothers love cannot be forced.

love is tragic
an algebraic expression with several substitutions
and a million different answers;
but only one is correct in the mind of the beholder.

love can be the worst or the greatest thing;
unrequited can ****,
but when it works out;
it can live forever.

N.R 2017

how will I know it's the right time
when even the moon and the sun change the hour they rise?
day switches to night,
and still the answer is cloudy in my mind.

sometimes the rain drowns,
other times it nourishes -
where lies the accuracy between too much and too little?
what if I wilt? but what if I flourish?

the roots of evil and good are alike,
sprouting from the same place of wanting change
though, change is only a quarter of the process
leaving a great deal into the arms of gamble.

even if the clock inevitably strikes nine,
and clouds are grey with storm-like signs,
and my thoughts are repeating the same **** line,

how will I know when it's the right time?
and is there even such a thing?

{Nicole Joanne - 2022}

What am I to do when the words are screaming within my head,
when the arms of the letters are engaged in a wrestling match
and they're ignoring the referees constant pleas to stop;
what is the referee to do when they're driving him mad?
What is he to do when they're driving him crazy?

The fights only exist in the ring, in the head,
for they don't even exist in the outside world.
Spoken word is nothing but dressed up thoughts;
nothing but children in costumes on Halloween night.
The referee can not exist outside,
neither can the battling words;
so how is he to get any peace of mind?

What is one to do when the things he's meant for drive him crazy,
what does one do when the only thing fueling him holds him back?
How does one free themselves from themselves?

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

"Black, two sugars in his coffee
remember that the next time we see each-other."
We never saw each-other again.

"You have sparkling eyes,
you give me butterflies," another said,
and I left.

I don't know how to love.

"I love you so much,
why can't you open up," he said.
Now I'm hurting his head.

'Cause I don't know how to love without ******* up.
Friends and lovers alike,
I don't know what they'd like from me,
I don't know what to do, I feel like a fool,
I just keep breaking their hearts, and I don't know how to stop.

I don't know how to love.

NR2016

Don’t you understand? I’m the careful girl who sets her alarm three hours early to guarantee she wont be late, the girl who’s scared to use boxed hair dye because there’s that one percent chance of a fatal allergic reaction. I’m the girl who gets sick every morning because anxiety tells me that i “might mess up something today.” I’m the girl who reads the fine print, the terms and conditions, because one time i didn’t, and i got hurt.

You’re the boy who sees terms and conditions as guidelines. The boy who drinks every night because though its drowning your liver, its what you used to fill an emptiness that’s now addicted to it’s harmful comfort. You’re the boy who sees a party as a release from responsibility and real life, a lazy Sunday night as a day wasted. You’re the boy with messy hair, tired eyes, and a tired heart. You welcome chaos because it keeps your mind from straying.

Cause though you’re reckless, you never were with love. Your heart is a liquor bottle that was indulged and tossed to the side by girls too drunk to understand that glass breaks. And glass cuts.

I always read ingredients before I consume, but i wasn’t thinking before i tasted you. So now here i am, the careful girl, and here you are, the reckless boy, caught in one world that’s both hazy and precise.

I’m trying to handle you with care, but youre screaming that there may not be a tomorrow. I’ve read your terms and conditions, but disregarded the “more terms below,” and found there’s more to you than i thought.

this careful girl is dealing with a reckless boy with a careful heart and I’m not sure whether to place the wine in a cabinet, or just down the bottle.

All Rights Reserved. [NJ2015]

Eyes brighter than the sun that acts as my heat in this cold world,
the smiles on their faces,
their loving embraces,
locked in each-others arms;
I'm tangled in the limbs of roughed-skinned trees and faceless barks.

A slap in the face from the wind is my kiss on the cheek,
their shelter is the roof above their head,
mine the endless blue sky.

Blue is all I've ever known.
I feel blue, I see blue,
faces turn into oceans at the sight of me;
they turn cold, they get scared, they rush at me like strong waves.
I cannot swim, I am drowning beneath the body [of water]
I have admired and adored.

My fantasies and dreams shoot at me with guns and sharp objects;
the one who could've understood me
was protected by those who think they understand him;
I can no longer keep running into the ocean
just to be continuesly thrown back to shore.

He throws me out to sea,
but yells at me when he steps on the  sharp pieces of me.

I am only a shell;
I am fragile.

You're yelling at me for hurting you,
you're the one who hurt me.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

he reminds me of thunderstorms,
the way his voice soothes me to sleep,
the way his hands run down my body
like dew drops on a car window.
his humid breath on my neck,
sending chills up my spine.

one minute it's down-pouring,
the next minute there's nothing but the scent of stale rain.
a love that's screaming one moment,
and silent the next.

when the lightning between our body seizes,
the thunder in my mind begins.
i end days drenched in the rain of us,
and i'm catching a cold.

i want a love like sunny days,
all i've ever know is love in the rain.

NJ2015 [all rights reserved]

he woke me up and said, 'you're always tired,'
said that i always fall asleep when i'm with him;
and i argued and said i just rest my eyes;
but truth is his arms are more like blankets to me
than my own sheets.

his chest carries a beating heart
and it's more comforting to fall asleep to that
than to the sound of bickering between hard-headed family members.
his laughter, usually mixed with the sound of anime,
or the narrator of YouTube's 'Watch Mojo' series, is my lullaby,
and the way his hands run through my hair
help rock my nervous mind to sleep.

but i tell him i'm resting my eyes,
because i can't tell him that he's my lullaby,
i can't tell him he's my refuge from a long day;
i can't tell him that when i'm with him,
i feel satisfied to just end my day.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

Too Much and Not Enough.
I'm the forgotten flower beneath the blanket of snow;
So beautiful in the Summer, but crushed by Winter;
there is such thing as too much.

Water ,the fuel I need,
but too much submerges me,
freezes and restrains me.
I'm wilting.
Too much at once,
and suddenly nothing.
Too much, but not enough;
timing is everything.

Days without rain
and I crumble;
rainy days deluge;
and I let it roll over me.

When Summer rolls around,
will you be there to water me;
or has the Winter left me for dead?
Or will I sprout in the *** of another?

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

He threw me against the wall
and swore he loved me,
and the only way
he could make sure I loved him too
was through bruises on my skin.
My heart was spilling,
but it was more blood than love:
more black and blue than pink.

Then I met someone else,
and he ran his fingers through my hair,
down my arm, over the curve of my hip,
he kissed my forehead,
and followed the path to my neck
where he whispered sweet nothings:
but he was gone with sun rise.

I remember his hands as bandages
after the fight -but they only cover so much.

And I remember his cigarette breath
-I hate cigarettes, but I wanted to smoke him so bad,
and when he was gone I felt like I had been addicted all along.

The bandages are gone,
it no longer smells like cigarettes,
and I'm no longer left with bruises
-so why do I feel so lost?
Isn't this what I want?

Is care synonymous to hurt?

Why do all who claim to care
leave me with marks to bear?

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

You don't touch me anymore.

We lay on your bed and watch MTV,
you right behind me -but you don't touch me anymore.

Two parallel tracks cutting through a familiar road;
once we collided, since then you've stayed on track
-now I'm a trainwreck.

How many times can I cross your path,
how many times can I wait until you pass
before my engine explodes and I scream?
So close, yet so far -why don't you touch me anymore?

The difference between you and I
is after the collision,
you've had passengers,
and I've only had test drives.

I'm trainwrecked.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

I'm trying real hard to keep this together but it's falling apart,
can't keep it from being severed,
but I'm hoping to keep you by my side at least just for the night
I'm trying to make you realize that I don't want this to be goodbye.

But I can't keep screaming at the moon
while she's screaming in your room,
while my bones are shaking cold,
she's found home within your arms.

So, I'm saying goodbye,
but I'm hoping you'll tell me please don't go.

I don't know why I keep trying to be right for you.
'cause we're from places worlds apart,
and we'll never see it through,
when I see you,

I'm hoping to keep you by my side.
I don't want to leave.
but you never told me,
don't go.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)