i think i'm going to break./
i'm so ******* sorry.

nothing makes sense right now and i'm scared
and i don't trust myself and god i'm sorry.

i shouldn't have brought you into this
and i don't know how many times i
can apologize-
but i'm so freaking sorry,

my heart is always yours.
i love you.

i hate endings.
i'm not a lover of beginnings either,
but the story
the stuff in between?
it grabs me so hard, and shakes me by the
shoulders sometimes.

i'm thankful for our in between.
even if the ending is tearing me
to shreds.
even if the clumsiness of our beginning still
runs miles through my head

scene/after/scene/after/poem/after-
(YOU CAN RIP MY HEART OUT, I STILL LOVE YOU)


*i'll be that girl who always waits for the sequel- no matter how long it takes for it to come. i promised you always, i promised you...

i never knew that a body could be so intriguing. i never understood the appeal of michelangelo's david statue.

why, i wondered, would a huge naked man draw not only the eyes of millions but be awe insiring and cause people to look at themselves as a part of a larger scheme?

but, oh my god. i look at you and david? he has no chance. he is made of marble, of stone, but i have a real boy, a living boy.

i will swallow my pride for a moment and admit that you are freaking  beautiful, more than i, and that is when you are clothed.

i could stare at your smile for hours if it didn't make me feel like i'm dying. if i could do so whilst breathing. i look at you, and i feel like i am a part of a greater scheme.

because, there's a chance that i could some day see the most honest way we compliment each other. more than just touch, more than lust, we could be love.

the fact that i will one day know the map of your body like a home town, like my childhood house- david never got the kind of love i want to give you, i'm sure of it.

i imagine that david tasted like cinnamon and guilt with a little bit of victory, or at least, i imagine that's how he would taste to me.

but you, you taste like freedom and fire / shyness and desire, and i'm telling you i would gaze upon you like you are art.

you **** all of the giants and monsters and evils in my head with your words like flying stones.

david has nothing on you babe.

because while he is crafted form marble, i stole you from the stars.

long hair cut short.
apology after apology.
jackets often worn,
if not, sweaters or
long-sleeved tops.
anti-social,
not because
i hate people,
but i fear they hate me.
isolation in my bed,
sometimes,
panic attacks
in the bathroom.
constant overthinking,
whether 3 am or 3 pm.
scribbles thoughts
into poems,
but hides them.
pushes away,
even though i want
to pull them closer.

the girl's body feels like that of a goddess when he touches her thighs. he says that when he kisses her she tastes like love and something he can't quite put his finger on. it isn't until she pulls him closer that he can. he realizes it's longing that he tastes.

who knew aphrodite longed for anything? for anyone?

the girl is soft her cheeks coloured like redwood, her hair dark and wild, her eyes brown. she's warmer than usual, but her hands are still cold. when he asks to kiss her, she doesn't want to close her eyes, she's afraid that she's too high up. mount olympus doesn't care for mortals, but she doesn't want to forget this one.

yes. aphrodite longs all of the time and as his laughter waterfalls down her spine, she doesn't remember anything but his brightness, that he is what makes her beauty.

goddess of love met her match. a mortal boy that feels like the god of autumn causes the leaves inside of her chest to fall and change colour.

she paints her love in shades of red. her hands on his body are pink-rose at the palms. this goddess of beauty has never seen any of her potential. perhaps it was wasted until he looked at her with disbelief, because she's never felt worth that gaze, but gods does she want it.

he looks at her and he just wants to occupy the same space forever.

*she looks at him and holds all the love in the universe in her hands.

I think of you more than a lot
I think of you so much
I think of how you're not mine.
I think about how this is something i should be over
I think about how much i still love you
I think about how i shouldn't
I think you're beautiful
I think you're the worst ever
I think you're my pink cloud
I think of you
I think I'm sick and tired of it all.

It comes back in fragments,
Washing up on the shore like pieces of sea glass
I pick each unique piece up individually,
I see that each fragment is in some way a part of me
How could it possibly be,
That I could be so many things
In just one body?

Each piece put together leads to a culmination of sorts
An amalgamation that is the masterpiece of me
The maturation that leads to the finale
I look into the mirror and am so proud
For a jubilant child I once was
But a sad teenager
Then a balanced adult
Adult?

There is something fascinating about this whole life thing
Like looking up to the stars
In an expansive sky,
And I'm breathing while
Looking into another human's eyes
And we're smiling
Life has it's pain
But if it's unbearable, why do the good times make living so worthwhile?

Remnants of glitter nail polish
Stick like war veterans to my finger nails
Un-willing to let go
I'm amused by this analogy and symbolism and everything I can see that I can't quite describe
No, I have no words for the nuances
Maybe, I think,
If I learn more words I'd be understood better
But it's not with words that we primarily communicate
But with tones and expressions and subtleties
Only in observation of intricate details
Are we capable of marvelling at the ingenuity of Creation

And if anyone has ever left you,
Abandoned you
Because they lost their heart along their journey
Fret not,
Do not fear that all your love was for naught
For you are the expansive star child
That is capable of holding so much love within you without bursting,
Combusting or imploding
Each drop of love you put out into this world is never without value
It may fall upon barren land and fail to produce the desired result of untainted love
But it is never your fault when your call and outpouring of love is rejected or ****** up greedily by a poor, self-serving soul
Who will try to use your love for their own selfish gain
But they will fail miserably,
For love cannot be used with malicious intent

These are just some lessons that I've learned, they have grown my soul
Into a limitless, expansive, blossoming rose
Fear not, dear one
You who have weathered countless storms
Your stories will make you stronger
And your soul holds you ever so gently in it's loving arms.