I think I hate myself more than you could ever love me

We ******-

It was my first time,
but... it surely wasn't your first time.
Although it was your first time with me
and it wasn't exactly love making
because though we told each other
"I love you"
I still wasn't sure exactly how to make it,
just how to say it.
You were my first time,
saying I love you and I think that was harder,
than actually ******* you.
And as a poet, these details become stanzas
for others ears to hang onto like a leech,
******* out every last emotion and turning
into a self-sacrifice of one's own interpretation.

You make it soooo easy,
but at the same time you make it so ******* hard.
like the way at times, I can't find the words to rhyme
so I just make these words I speak to you run-on sentences
that never exactly end, just keep going
until i find some other **** to say to you to make you smile,
or **** you off, because i'm actually really good at that
in fact, i love the way you call me out on my *******.
The way I want to dye my hair crazy ******* colors,
but you turn up your nose and tell me no I shouldn't,
which I admire because I would probably regret it.

You're not afraid to tell me how you feel
you don't fear I will flip out or cry or cuss you out,
and I love you for that.
because for so long i've had people
walk around me like I was at the edge of insanity,
waiting until i was pushed to my imminent death.
But baby, you just don't care
because you are on that edge with me
swinging your feet along the side,
lifting your head back and screaming
"man, what a ******* ride."

We made love.
and i'm not sure if we really did,
but ******* it felt like it
because right then
your body was the only one
I ever wanted, ever again.
I'm not sure if that's ******* insane
because I don't believe in forever
and I'm not sure I believe in happily ever after.
But ******* baby, you took the pen from  my hand
and wrote me a novel with your lips across my skin
and made me forget about every single person,
who ripped open my chest, tore my heart out at the seems
and took a piece of me with them.
The story you wrote hasn't ended,
it's still being written
and like a chose your own adventure novel,
i'm not sure where this is gonna go..
or if what I say will send me down a snake hole
poisoning my mind with negativity
or have me fighting off the evil ninjas
out to control my thought process
but ****, i'm willing to risk it
because although i'm not sure where will this will take me,
i'm along for the ride and you have me hooked
with every paragraph and run-on sentence
you trace across my skin.
and like the wise words of Miles Hodges,
"your head was great baby but your mind,
your mind was the night before a revolution."

You were my first,
love, ****, and then love again
and you taught me things
I never thought my mind had the capability of processing.
Yeah, I still hate your ******* ex girl-friends
and your pictures together make my stomach curl,
and if I ever see her out in public that *****...
it doesn't matter,
because I am yours and you are mine
and I am prettier than she is anyways...
****, it doesn't matter
because nothing matters when I am with you
and it's kind of ****** up, in the best way.

I have never felt the loneliness that I do without you,
and I'd like to think that means something special.
You make me write happy poems..
I haven't written a happy poem since I was 9
and I'd like to think that means something special.
I may not be able to dye my hair funky colors,
or pierce my eyebrow
but **** that's just my manic depression talking anyways,
and it's funny because
no matter how much things around me change
or how much I count the days until I fade away.
There's one thing in my mind that stays
and that's the way I feel about you...

We ******-
and it wasn't cute
or tragic like the movies make it out to be.
It was you, and it was me-
and for the first time I felt safe...
No flashbacks or panic attacks,
just your eyes, a little worried
and that's when I kinda knew
I made the right choice
loving you.

Rain water soaks us
Runny mascara, but you still think I'm beautiful
Lips so soft
Lips so sweet
We're pressed up against each other
Bare chest to bare chest
You on top
Me on bottom
Hips locked in place with the other
Warm soft sweet lips slowly caressing my body, my lips and my neck you **** on
Soft gentle hands caress my ******* thoughtfully
Finally, her lips reach my thighs, I, trembling with lust and fear
I was scared and she knew it
Her hands and lips touched me
*So softly, so gently

When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.

I often think about death. A lot people scared about death. but a few of people trying and wishing to die. I wonder how it feels like to die, is that good? or is it the best escape from all of this life?
but I thought death won't realize anything. I live in death, it's not good. it's *****. alone. small. invisible. and you were nothing but a small memories. no love. no glory. no victory. you were still alone, and no one listen to you.
so I guess death doesn't release you from anything. and death doesn't mean your heart have to stop beating. we life to fight ourselves and the whole world, and when we lose, there's always a way to come back to life.

it's okay if you only talk to me when you need me. broken heart or forgotten wasn't the new thing for me