People often use the term "home is where the heart is" as reference that home is a literal place. That you can touch it, feel it, live in it and it's physically there. But I just can't seem to wrap my mind around that. Because my heart belongs to a home that isn't there in a physical sense. My home is the way you say my name and draw circles on my lower back. My home is built and structured in between your arms and in the crook of your neck. I've never felt more at home then when we are skin to skin and I want to pull you even closer. No my home is not a building, my home is you and that's where my heart will always be.

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
For I am a poet, my dear
If only a simple, but heartfelt "yes"
Is what you would like to hear

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your deep brown eyes are lovely
I'll say they're luminous stars,
During my nights, they shine impeccably

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your smiles are charming
I'll say they're arcs of polychromatic colors
Stretched across blue skies, breathtaking

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your hair is just fine,
I'll say they're thin tails of wandering comets
Fascinating, plainly divine

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your dress looks okay
I'll say you're a glass of ice cold water
And I've been thirsty for this entire summer day

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If I'll still hold your rough hand
Darling, can an average human like me
Resist a touch so grand?

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
After one, five, ten, twenty-five years time
I'll say that whatever my eyes descry
Will be defining sublime

Don't ask me if you're beautiful
You're in love with a poet, my dear
Simple answers are not what I'd give
A mere "yes" is not just what you'd hear

There will be boys whose eyes remind you of the clearest blue sky you have seen all summer, boys who make you think that they will be able to save you from whatever hell you've been living in for however long since the last one left you.

There will be love when the boy decides to do something stupid like kiss you or hold your hand, perhaps just laugh at your terrible jokes enough to seem like he cares about making you feel good. He will piece back that shattered heart of yours slowly but surely with glue or tape or whatever else he can find like his smile or his grasp on you.

There will be pain, and it will genuinely hurt you when you notice either how in love with him you are or how in love with you he's not. It will hurt when he looks into your eyes and tells you you are not what he wants. It will hurt like never before, like no pain you have ever felt and your throat will get clogged and your chest will hurt and you will see snot coming out of you like a faucet and you won't want to leave your room.

There will be blame, to yourself and him. Him for breaking down your walls and making you believe he could be different and you for falling for the process all over again even after you told yourself you would not.

There will be acceptance and then the cycle will repeat. You just have to accept the fact at 1am that you no longer look at that boy with love in your eyes anymore but rather just a friendly fondness and you have finally moved on from him, and you come to a resolution with yourself that you cannot avoid the next boy that comes along with that smile and those sparkling eyes that seem like the life jacket you need to wear in the hurricane of your life, because the truth is you're always looking for that boy who will actually throw it. Each time their hands are behind their back and each time you look to see if the jacket is there.