i have a horrible habit
of writing poetry about
the boy i love.

my tears
watered
the roots
of my love
for you.
so please
don't let me
waste away.
harvest me
when i'm
ready.

it was then that i realized
if he couldn't bother
treating me like a queen
then he had no right
to stand in my kingdom.

let another queen
decide your fate,
my love.

you waste my time.

i am madly in love with you
so please
treat me well
whether you love me back
or not.

When I tell you
That I'm in love with you
I will do so with a poem
Because that is the language
That I speak.

you wrote your soul
on my skin
with a silken paintbrush
and sky blue paint––

i'm sorry.

i wrote my soul
on your skin
with a sharpened knife
and blood red paint––

i'm sorry.

let out the air you've been
holding in all your life.
you're free now.
you live in the clouds
with the sky as your lungs
and the sun as your oxygen
soak in the world's worth
and drop into the depths
of your endless blue soul
like a stone in the ocean
swim with the birds
fly with the fish
and breathe.
breathe.
you're alive.
so breathe