I never thought this could happen again.
I thought you were my safety.
But apparently places of refugees have their time meters, too.
The liquor transported to your eyes,
and the liquid gold dripped on the bathroom vanity
and
the fun came to an end

I love this house,
the yellow stucco,
    my thinking tree, the one who's tallest branch helped me escape from the things below.
I love my room,
  it has absorbed everything about me into it's walls,
  they made me feel safe, and helped me escape

Sometimes I hate the owners who have shaped and molded me into the person I am now
They are the landowners and I am the renter
Coming and going without a trace and never offering nor receiving a likeness of an embrace

Paint a picture of my silhouette
With your exhalation i was taken elsewhere
I can't stay the night
But I'll wait 'til tomorrow
Come for more,  
I dare you to ask for more
You could stand in the street all day and everything would change but you.
Come and find me and I'll show you my world
My places, my favorites, my firsts
The alleyways and back streets have our names written in gold
Black soot streaks our cheeks but we're smiling
Here is a place we could call our own
if you'd take down the shaky facade
Let the rain drenched sidewalk be your foundation
it's yours if you want it

There are two things in this world i would consider factors of my imminent happiness.
I use the word imminent because it's usual connotation refers to death; something often looming and ever-present.
Fear and Love.
I am fearful of a lot of things specific to past experiences, dreams, and my current situation.
I Love being alone, so I can't say I fear that.
Don't  people fear the things they love the most?
Because, by investing that love into something they are more susceptible to be broken by it.

My truly being happy isn't going to come with less fears, but with letting someone love through those fears.
And by doing so, I have to love back fearlessly, as well.
Even if it turns out exactly how I said it might….
at least I can say I ******* tried

my eyes burned when I read your poems
when I  saw the most real and amazing parts of you that you keep hidden at all times
I often look at the people you surround yourself with and wonder how they can't see the beauty,
the beauty that is so obviously there
but it's okay. it will be because through everything, all the pain that is there, lying just beneath surface
I see it
I'm not much for words or life changing advice but I hope that with my presence or a strawberry lemonade slushie,
you will know that I see it.
Others see it too, just please believe me.
When I told you that all you can do is just 'be you'
I didn't mean it in the cliche way that it sounds...
I meant it from the deepest most genuine parts of my being,
because if you were to do that, just 'be you'
I can't even begin to explain how amazing that would be.
Because you are.
And you are worth so much more than you realize.

love is an art form and our technique was lost in the brush strokes
the calming blue and fiery red melded into a sleepy gray on an altered canvas
our melded color wheels spun together defying gravity and the stars around it
the secret images in our minds danced across our eyelids as we slept in a blanket of white comfort
our dreams did not cease when our slumber did, but awakened themselves through the next visit to the big tree in the field
the dilapidated branches grasped our waists,
taking us as high as we wanted to go.
overcast clouds eased our minds and stirred something so deep from within, that only  a light breeze could evoke it's depths

Every evening I look forward to sleep, thinking I might meet you in my dream
Every morning I wake up with a tinge of hope you'll be there when I wake up
Every twilight holds the promise of your hand to envelop mine
and every passer by trundles their own loves,
hopeful,
hurt,
stuck in the electrifying cycle.
The lines in my forehead are deeper
but so are laugh lines near the corners of my mouth.
I'll throw a party and hope to see you down the hall,
I won't come and talk to you because I know you'll be waiting for me outside.
Hand extended,
smirk positioned,
jeans the color of peeling paint;
Time to wake up

Congratulations!
You are now the proud owner of a girl...
You have successfully made her into the mechanical, fun- loving, intelligent, perfect, only spoken when spoken to, gracefu, lovi, wonde, beau, bri, fa, a,
p
     e            
                r
                         f
                                  e  
                          ­                  c
                                                       t
daughter.

You offer me things I have never felt before.
The sweet taste of you left in my mouth,
too soon to be replaced by a bittersweet regret.
So gently make me shiver,  so I can wake up feeling the soft remembrance of your touch and laugh a little knowing that I left myself fall for you again, just as i said i wouldn't

someone called me dynamite today.
if you've never been called that, i'd like to tell you, then, that
you are dynamite.
so
explode.
fizzle.
light up.
be put out.
light up again.
trigger a spark in someone's eyes they didn't know was there
fog someone's vison if just for a moment. taint their perception and blur their minds
dazzle ignite crackle sparkle
be an ember red, hot, strong, passionate, warming, deep orange
use your flame how you want and
be
dynamite

what is our relationship?
are we best friends? friends?
we hang out on weekends sometimes, are constantly around each other during the school day, and  have similar experiences and feelings about important things.
and yet, i still don't really know you.
the story of your life still remains a shrouded cloud of mystery that has yet to clear.
we are both "understand"ers
I understand a lot about you. Feel the things you feel and let unspoken things be said through a look. You understand a lot about me. You tell me things that I need to hear and offer me comfort unlike any friend because you recognize a lost but searching soul.
I remember when we first started really talking.
I don't know if I made this up, but I swear to God... every time we would talk, your eyes would light up and I would smile, because we both knew each other without really knowing
That glimmer would literally cause me to smile so big, and cause something inside me to grow a little bit each time it happened. It was a rare thing and I cherished it.
We both thought the other was exciting and it was like we shared a thousand unknown secrets just waiting to be told.
I still see that spark sometimes. It's not there in the way it used to be, but it's there. If I tell you something brave I did the previous weekend, or you talk about music or something you love, I see it come back. But when we talk about C, M, or H,  the flame is dull. I hate that; I wish it didn't have to be put out like that.
So what is this?
Sometimes I feel like whatever spark you thought you saw in me, isn't as exciting or secretive as you thought.
I hope that isn't true, because just as I don't truly know your life story, you don't know mine.
I didn't know you freshman year, or most of sophomore. Junior year, who can even say what happened. But I hope that during this summer, even if I'm not in your life as much, that flame will grow. I really hope it does, because the small glimpse of it that I was lucky enough to witness was one of the greatest, purest, most extraordinary things I have ever seen.
I didn't want to tell you about my depression, or the years I went to therapy..."counseling".
Or when I thought I had anorexia and later tried to make myself a bulimic.
When you told me on the bridge that you had tried to make yourself throw up, I understood. So much.  But I couldn't say that and make it about me.
I didn't want you to worry that I would become like her . And I know that's awful to say, but when you talk about her, and I hear the pain in your voice, and didn't want to be another cause of that.
Now I feel like I should tell you because unlike a few months or weeks ago, I'm okay with myself. I wasn't then,  but I am now.
So there's a little more about me, but this isn't what this is about.
This is a long *** who-knows-what-whatever about I don't even know.
U Rock

I used to think the words "beautifully imperfect" were cliche
then i experienced what it was to seeing something so beautifully imperfect
We may never travel the same road again,
or look out the same airplane windows to a world so vast and unknown below,
but that take off, that landing, was enough.

A person like you should never have to go through what you have
No one deserves it, but especially someone like you.

I talked to you for 15 minutes and by the 8th minute I had tears rolling down my cheeks and my heart pulsated so sharply I thought I could see it through my shirt

God, why.
Mom. Cancer. Rehab. Chain. *******. Smoker.
Depression. Anxiety. Body dysmorphia. God, I am so sorry.  

All the cliches in the entire world could not amount to the things I wish I could say to you, and one day make you believe.
All the times you saved me from my worst self, only to realize that while you had saved me, it was your own self that was delving deeper and deeper into its own defeat.
God.
Every time you would come up and give me a hug even when I barely knew you.
When I had no idea what you would mean to me, and how much your life would impact mine.
I am so sorry.
Sorry that your parent's were **** to you. That you didn't get the family you deserve, but made yourself such a strong, completely marvelous person.
I'm not romanticising any of the things you went through because I would never shed a good light on things that caused you so much suffering.
No, that's not it at all.
All the stories you told me tonight seemed too unbearable to be real.
But those stories are your harsh realities and I would trade everything I owned, all the money in my bank account, for you to stop what you do to yourself and the undo the numbness you've trained yourself to feel
you are NOT sad personified
you are NOT just *** appeal and sweet heartbreaker
you even know that my heart breaks, literally I can feel it, when you tell me, show me, paint ******* pictures for me of all the things you've dragged yourself through
I can't pick your feet up and carry you through, though.
God, how I wish I could.
You have to do it on your own, I know you can.
But I just ******* hope you'll follow through in your terrifying, mystifyingly horrible promise of, "Maybe I'll stick around until then"
.
.
.

i think i understand why i look in the mirror so often.
not to check my appearance
well no, that's a lie
but i think the less superficial part of looking in the mirror begins with people looking for  someone different.
when i look in the mirror i think im looking for someone different
and those who avoid the mirror, their reflection,  might be afraid of what they'll see if they gaze long enough
i look in the mirror in hopes to find myself,
because as of right now
i have no idea of who i am

did you tell her about me?
of the pain i caused you?
of my problems that you no longer wanted to fix?
or of the ******* heart of yours i broke.
did you tell her how i TRANSFERED for YOU left all MY friends to please YOU
or  did you tell her about the call at 4 A.M. because I had a nightmare and needed to talk to someone, to hear my best friend's voice tell me "it's okay olivia, it was just a dream"
or how i asked you to send me sad things so that i would force myself to cry, because i hadn't cried in months and wanted to feel SOMETHING other than numb
or how we stayed up until 3 A.M. in Germany trying to solve this unsolvable mess, and you cried and i cried. everything was so ****** up
or all the red mango's i put on your doorstep as a peace offering.

you knew me, but you didnt
and that's something i still can't figure out
you knew how to manipulate me into thinking it was the best choice for US.
you loved using "us"
but you never ******* encouraged me or made me feel PROUD
I showed you my ****** poetry and you just "hmph-ed" you ******* HMPH-ED
Awhile ago I felt like I was drowing.
And I didn't want to come up and show my face to you, to my mom, to anyone who mattered
you mattered to me, c.
you mattered.
but now,
my priorities lie in
gaining back everything you put away in a box
that tiny little box you labeled
branded
with your name

a thick blanket of smoke surrounded me,
that came from inside my lungs?
the smoke enveloped my thoughts and shrouded my discernment    
it creeped around, its fingers beckoning me towards it.
it entered my lungs before i could say no, even though i had already said yes.  
why am i saying yes to so many poisonous things, and no to things that should matter
i wanted to do it, to prove myself; not  to him or her, but to myself.
if i don't act tough, that translates into vulnerability, and vulnerability is more dangerous than most risks taken
one more than her
a deeper hit
I guess I'm more competitive than I thought.
*but when do i draw the line

is there a cateogory for people who don't love men and don't love women?
... like a label for someone who doesn't feel like they could be loved, completely by either? or want to be loved by either?
i don't even know
but that's me.
so.
yup, that's it.

nostalgia is a mysterious thing;
it intoxicates you with it's smells and sights until you dip your feet  into the sea of childhood and then it pulls you deep into it's water because it knows you won't fight the current.
everyone else seems like they break the surface,
but i'm still here, under the surface refusing to gasp for air

it's that feeling when you first walk into a concert,
you know what i'm talking about.

when you see the red, green, and blue spot lights.
illuminating our eyes
once again, igniting the spark they try to put out

everywhere you look people are pulsing to the beat, as it unites the crowd in ways you didn't even know existed

standing there, you are allowed to forget
forget the bad math grade, the ****** week, the relationship that you will probably never be able to fix with your mother

I wish that one could feel like this all the time.
but then, that might ruin the specialness of it

If I could feel like this all the time, then maybe I wouldn't feel so lost all the time

That's the beauty of concerts. You let the music find you.
You may be in a crowd with a thousand other people, but that song, those lyrics, that beat is meant for you
Let it crawl into you. Starting from your toes until it climbs up to your head.
Allowing you to take down the walls, brick by brick, song by song...
Giving you the best high you've ever had.

I hope you stand next to someone you love.
But  if you dont, love them anyway because you are at a concert and nothing,
nothing
is better than that

explain it to me , im silently begging
how can you look at the seven letters on the page and think that explains who i am
you dont know the first thing about me, you truly dont
and i cant fathom that
PLEASE
when was the last time you looked at me.

really looked

do you know that i want to paint my room plum and turquoise?
or my favorite song?  or how happy funnel cake makes me?

i'd bet my life you don't remember what color my eyes are

your own ******* kid's eyes.

they're blue gray.

just so you know, just in case you ever wanted to ******* know.

walk with me
that's all i ask.

walk with me as the sand cushions our feet,
and we waver between the shallow water and the warm dry sand

walk with me,
and when you see something greater in the distance,
ill let you go

ill walk alone

just know that if you ever decide to come back

ill be here,
because you walked with me even when the beach ran out