kiss me with passion,
deep want in your eyes.

hold me with love,
the cause of relief sighs.

taste me, the *****,
right on my lips.

and then a taste of passion fruit,
following each and every kiss.

our first kiss may as well have been our first kiss goodbye.
I’m drowning tonight,
hand me a baguette and wine.
Jack, Jim, all of their friends,
been workin on me,
but can’t you see,
I can’t drink you away?
Not tomorrow, certainly not today.

You said our love was true,
now I’d like to be downing something,
something with a strong alcohol proof.

and to think it all started
on April the 3rd.

it was fun, I guess that’s true.

but I didn’t even make it a month,
at least not with you.

and just like that a bomb went off.
inside her heart, her brain.
everything covered in ashes of love,
and smelling of him and hate.
the feeling of gut wrenching loss
something beautiful now lost among the ruins.
pieces of poems she thought he deserved,
and parts of the words she wrote for her world.

Her silly, crazy, stupid, idiot world.
and it just all suddenly went “kaboom”

I say that a lot.
“Shoot ****”
don’t ask me why honestly,
I won’t have an answer.

You know what else I don’t have an answer to?
How someone loses feelings so fast,
maybe even before they have a chance to fully develop and transform.
I don’t know, I wish I did.

All I know is that you get your jacket back today, and if I’m being honest, I hope when you get it back and it smells like me, it tears you apart like you did me.

cuddles, kisses, undivided attention.
coffee breath, warm hugs, blanket theft.
video games, cold hands, cute nicknames.

she allows the raindrops to get their way with her. they’re allowed to touch her in any way they please, running from angle to angle, tracing her curves like no human ever could. and then, when they’re done, they soak into her skin, down to the bone.

her feet dance, almost involuntarily, to the beating drum of God’s thunder. He knows how to play, He knows how to get her to move, in heart and by feet. she’s always loved the rhythm of any drum, but this one, from the sky, was much more special.

I think that she connected with the storm so well, because there was one raging inside her as well.

“I’m pretty sure they write books about the kind of love we have”

Too cold. For April.
But we took a walk because we’re just young and in love, starving for time together.

The ice and snow beat us in the face, clinging to our eyelashes, interrupting our smiles with spits and sputters.

It was cold, too cold. But we held each other close, a fire between our hearts.

Then we went to the gazebo where we simply spoke beautiful words to one another, just us. Our arms were wrapped around one another, clinging like we would never hold each other again.

I told you something, admitted even. It hit me hard, I almost cried. That’s when you spoke sweetly to me, hugged me slightly tighter, and kissed me ever so gently.

but I remember the pinky promise.

do you see that boy? that one is mine.
Let me paint him for you:

His eyes are the impossibly beautiful ones. The kind that aren’t one color, but thousands of shades at once. His eyes are worthy of drowning in.

His hands are the type that know to protect, but to never overstep their boundaries so clearly drawn. The type that might be cold, especially when they aren’t tangled perfectly with my own.

His hair is like a sea of midnight, with parts of the waning crimson of dusk shining through. Soft, like the moon’s glow, and long enough to smile into.

His skin is pale like fair moonlight against the dark shadows of the world. His skin is soft, but not too soft. Everything perfect to touch, and to kiss.

His lips are perfectly... perfect. When they’re twisted into a smile from a laugh from a joke or comment I made that wasn’t even really that funny. ((His lips are best when they’re writing beautiful words against my own.))

he is perfect. in so many ways.

your fingers trace beautiful paintings in my skin, and your lips write poetry like silk against mine.

But you’re the real masterpiece,
         and honestly, I thought that I was the artist.

My parents claim that I am part of “the best day of their lives”

And now you’re saying that I’m the “best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

That’s a lot of pressure.

when someone saves their last penny for you
because I love roses, yes I really do.

What will I ever do with a dozen?

(That’s 12)

No, I don’t blush, and I’ll try not to smile,
that allows people to see me, to fool me about being worth while.

But I’ll let you keep on, because loving you is what I want to do,

but if I die please note:
it was crimson poison and rose petals that I got from you.

I’ve caught the kiss that was flying through the air. I caught it, held it to my heart, and told it to stay there.

I’m laying in bed, that much is true.

But my mind keeps on runnin, I’m thinking of you.

I haven’t felt like this in a while.
Laying in bed with a sleepy smile.
It’s so early, plus it’s spring break
but I’m feeling love, it isn’t fake.
You messaged me about how you felt,
I’m laying in bed, thinking about the best hand I’ve been dealt.

The wind howls,
not like a wolf, but good guess.
It’s so strong and demanding.
It does whatever it wants with my hair,
and it did unspeakable things to that trampoline.

I wonder if the wind is trying to tell us something, but we aren’t wise enough to listen.

we meet tomorrow,
among kisses and bittersweet espresso.

Everytime my eyes flutter shut,
I think of you and your smile,
butterfly kisses and all.

it all started to make sense when she realized that
e v i l
turned around is to  
l i v e.

you, the sun,
made my clouds run to hide
and now my teardrops are beautiful rainbows.

when she found herself broken,
she still managed to stand.

when she realized that life bites,
she grew a strong hunger to fight.

when everyone left,
she found her Best Friend.

so, when love bites, when life bites,
scoot away from it all, and closer to God.
Because God doesn’t bite.

when it rains, darling it pours
my broken spirit is a lot like yours.
broken pieces casting a shadow so bleak
and a tattered heart that’s become too weak.

but remember the Sun, when we can hide for a while.
a time of rest, a time to smile.

I don’t remember, and also I don’t want to recall, I want to forget, but I don’t want to at all?

When it rains, I’m no longer alone,
the sky’s teardrops mixed in with my own.

And I got caught in the rain,
nothing like a few sky teardrops to hide my pain.

you said you always loved my eyes,
when I was talking to you,
I loved them too.
A rich honey color, with
a kaleidoscope of green mixed within.
The golden hues that a sunset paints,
that was found in my eyes.
Then you left, and it became the dead night.

if my eyes are closed,
he looks just like you.
if I can’t see,
my hands feel you.
when my eyes are shut,
I’m loving you.

I wear my glasses because you had a special love for them.

your skin is velvet, soft beneath my quivering touch, too nervous, or lack of the warm, earthy caffeine that I’ve gotten too used to? you taste like passion and berries, hibiscus, silk among my tastebuds and lips, they’ve never experienced something so enthralling. you sound like a waterfall, strong, beautiful, triumphant, jumping over the edge. the edge of literal glory, and I’m really truly hanging onto you. as the water of your voice gushes over the edge, we jump with it and plummet into the darkness of perfection and satisfaction.

Through my entire life, I’ve had to debate some true events in life. A lot of them have been difficult to think about and decide on.

But, the true debate always in my head, is whether or not I get out of my warm bed. No matter how badly I have to ***.

I was so excited to taste you,
and I loved and cherished everything while it lasted,
but now that it’s over,
I hate the aftertaste.

I’ve always acted like a five year old.
I’ll pout when things go wrong,
I’ll shy away when you begin to say
that something will take too long.
I’ll hide under my covers, up to my head
I’ll hide in the blankets of my soft bed.
I’ll hide from all of the monsters:
anxiety, depression too
I’ll hide away from those mean old things,
and instead I’ll think of you.
I’ll dream a dream, or I think I might
a closed-eye movie to pass the night.
I’ve never been a fan of the dark,
never a fan of fright.
I’ve always loved the day time,
rather than that of night,
until you came to feel my young head with beauty, love, and light.

hello? where are you?
my darling, my darling
I’m sorry that you’re see through.

like a ghost,
you’ve floated away,
from my love and my life,
and now I keep wanting to scare myself and say

*boo

do you feel it too?






feel the falling like I do?

perplexity* is loving someone that you maybe shouldn’t.

perfection is the way you would scrunch up your nose when I spoke.

beauty is missing you when everyone says that I can’t.

enthralling
that’s you, absolutely and totally enthralling. fascinating, important. perfect.

Speeding through red blurs,
drowning in the smell of espresso,
the new car smell that’s 3 years old,
getting soaked by the lack of rain,
drenched by the sun.
Held down by the speed,
so slow, oh no,
a phrase unspoken,
a life that’s broken,
I just want to learn more.

I want to go faster,
I want to go slow,
I want to learn more,
about you,
more than anyone knows.

I got so many flowers, because people think that they’re my favorite. People also think that my heart has been broken. Not by you, you would never do that. I know you.

In my last poem, I wrote “...maybe a few petals have wilted.” Well, I realize that these beautiful flowers will not live for forever, just as we probably wouldn’t last for forever. But!! As the petals of our young love have wilted, I have hope in the blooming season yet to come.

This life isn’t a fairy tale,
that’s what I’ve learned,
there’s an end to everything,
even the things that shouldn’t have one.
But when did Belle ever give up?
When did she back away in
the face of the Beast?
When did she stop looking beyond,
into the darkness,
to see that rose finally bloom with beauty?


That rose, the one that Belle saw,
was you.
I, Belle.
I saw you, everything perfect among life. Blooming with beauty, admist the darkness of my anxiety, beyond the Beast of depression, you were my rose, jacob. And I’m no longer afraid to face that maybe a few petals have wilted.

forever was never scary with you,
today would’ve been a month,
next it would have been two.

after a few years or so of writing poetry,
your lips wrote a thousand, beautiful words against mine.

*It’s better than anything I’ve ever written

lost in the gray mountains, a beautiful blanket abyss, I reminded you that quote, “hey we haven’t yet kissed”

it took a few smiles and giggles too, before you guided my lips, gently, to you.

it was everything perfect, funny, and true.
that’s when I learned that I only want to kiss you.

for a life so beautiful, a love so sweet, I sure can’t wait for our lips to again meet.

I’ve felt love?
maybe not, but now i do.

**the beauty is, that I’ve found it.
and he found me.