Flowers die off so soon
They are beautiful at the
moment they were born
but when they
wither away into the ground
no one cares, no one cries
because flowers are so easily
replaced by another bouquet of plants
the petals will fall and that is their demise
I am a flower

I am the dust in your bedroom
the kind that falls from the sky and
tumbles through the light
streaming through your windows
I am only visible to you with the
light of the Earth
I will stay on your floor and
you will walk all over me and
never know anything of it
You will kick me up and
I will leave you

I am not the blanket that covers
you up at night and keeps you warm
I do not deserve such a title
I am not the roof that keeps you safe
from the ongoing snow and rain
that happens in this town
I am not your lover, your friend
I am nothing

I am a ghost, an apparition
a wisp of non-existence

my wrists
spill blood
just like my pen
spills inky words
onto my notepad

nobody warns you about the first boy who tells you he wants to marry you.

nobody warns you about the tangible shift in the universe when he parts his lips to smile.

nobody warns you about the poetry he'll write you or how your knees will weaken or the melancholy hidden between the layers of his laughter.

nobody warns you that miles will morph into lightyears and you will curse the ocean for being the only thing that keeps his fingers from resting between yours.

nobody warns you about the day his sweater doesn't smell like him anymore.

nobody warns you that human hands are incapable of holding a person together.

nobody warns you that sometimes love is not enough, no matter how much you wish it was.

nobody warns you about the crippling nostalgia that renders you breathless.

nobody warns you about the nights when silence screams for your blood.

nobody warns you about the crater that forms in your chest in the middle of the night when he doesn't answer.

nobody warns you about how it's going to feel when he tells you he's in love with someone else.

nobody warns you that forever is a lie.

- m.f.

Please send him someone wonderful
To love his heart like I could not
Please send him someone beautiful
To ease the pain I left in his heart

I can't stay to pick up the pieces
Because it is not for me to do
So please send him that one someone
Who can love him too

My instability caused him pain
I toyed around with him
I feel so bad for what I've done
But sorry won't fix anything.

Please send him someone gentle, patient, and kind
Someone who can see the love in his eyes
Let her love him like he wants to be loved
Let her be the one who breaks all ties

Send him happiness
Send him joy
Send him true love
Send him all the things I couldn't

Because he deserves it.

There's always more that could have been done.
But I think I walked away just in time.

if you take time to think about it -
water has many different personalities.
it will burn you, unapologetically, if it's boiled
but it can be so cold that it chills you to the bone.
water can flow freely, or be stagnant.
water can be clear, completely transparent -
or clouded & dark, all depending on where you find it.
water is life-giving; it will save you if you're dying of thirst,
but it can also be a poison - if not properly treated, before taking a drink.
it's powerful enough to destroy entire cities,
but gentle enough to bring life to flowers.
water can hold up a ship- but it will still slip through your fingers.

(water - was the color of your eyes,
  and ever since the day you left -
it's all that seems to come from mine.)

I want to be skinny and sexless,
to lay around in sleeping bags under the stars
with friends and maybe lovers
to feel the comfort of skin
and the ear tickling of dreamy nonsense words
of plans and ambitions and dreams and loves.

I want to be skinny and sexless,
to waste my youth- idle- with thoughts that lead
nowhere but to other young holding hands-
fingers, long hair, short hair, scissors.

I want to be skinny and sexless,
with the romanticized and stigmatized idea of
children gone wild-
skateboards and swimming pools and
hot red blood and money burning holes
not in pockets but in hands
and broken bottles and brown paper bags.

I want to be skinny and sexless,
to write poetry and half romantic letters
that swear with my whole heart
"I hope I die before I hit thirty."