Jan 2015
I. You picked a **** out of a garden and became my first love. At the time I was trying to define who I was, searching in dictionaries for the word “bi” or “gay” to see if my name was there. I searched for who I was in other people and never saw myself reflected back until I felt your lips on mine and found out I was yours. You like to say we were only friends, but we were more because I started eating again and stopped harming my skin. Unfortunately you couldn’t teach my body to only love you and I hurt you so bad that physical pain would hurt less because I left you unconscious from a broken heart. It’s been over a year but I still hate myself for smashing your glass wrists and I’m reminded by it every time I see the cracks on them. I’m so sorry.
II. I see you smoking your cigarettes, nicotine swarming your lungs and I’ve never been more jealous. Halos of smoke fill the air and I wish I could sketch the way you look right now, you’re a ******* masterpiece.
III. I see the way sadness knocks at your door and how you lock it twice, but somehow it has the key. I see the way sadness grips onto your bones and holds on tightly, the silence is unbearable and tears drip down your face and it’s so hard to see you in so much pain but maybe this will help.
My words aren’t going to make sadness stop knocking, but I’ll put a **** “Do Not Disturb” sign up and lock the doors thrice.
When was the last time you slept? I won’t let the sadness take up your sheets where they turn to ocean waves and you feel like you’re drowning but the pills **** all the pain and your fingers are blue from trying to grasp what’s real and fake.
I won’t let sadness rearrange the words “*****” into “happiness” because no matter what’s at the bottom of the bottle, it’ll make you forget anyhow.
I know that sadness whispers to you, and I know the way it touches you, and that’s why you can’t stop scratching your bare skin, isn’t it?
Sadness twists what you see in the mirror and you clench your teeth and break your rib cage and you smash the glass with your fists because looking at yourself in pieces seems more familiar.
IV. You think you’re trapped between two lungs but baby there’s so much more. I hope you never hate your scars because just like stars, they are the scars of the universe, or my universe at least.
It’s so hard to describe an angel when my voice shakes and stutters and no collection of words can ever describe how utterly breathtaking you are. And overtime you move I can’t stop watching you and I swear the earth stands still because it can’t keep it’s eyes off you. I look into your eyes and see heaven, yet I don’t believe in God but I have no problem worshiping you.
You hurt in places I never knew existed even though I’ve been between your veins and the crook of your neck and words tumble out of you mouth I’m okay I’m fine don’t worry, yet you tremble when you speak.
V. I write about you so much to remind you that I’ve not only inked my paper with the thought of you, but i can’t get you out of my head and I hope you stay.
II. I see you smoking your cigarettes, nicotine swarming your lungs and I’ve never been more jealous. Halos of smoke fill the air and I wish I could sketch the way you look right now, you’re a ******* masterpiece.
III. I see the way sadness knocks at your door and how you lock it twice, but somehow it has the key. I see the way sadness grips onto your bones and holds on tightly, the silence is unbearable and tears drip down your face and it’s so hard to see you in so much pain but maybe this will help.
My words aren’t going to make sadness stop knocking, but I’ll put a **** “Do Not Disturb” sign up and lock the doors thrice.
When was the last time you slept? I won’t let the sadness take up your sheets where they turn to ocean waves and you feel like you’re drowning but the pills **** all the pain and your fingers are blue from trying to grasp what’s real and fake.
I won’t let sadness rearrange the words “*****” into “happiness” because no matter what’s at the bottom of the bottle, it’ll make you forget anyhow.
I know that sadness whispers to you, and I know the way it touches you, and that’s why you can’t stop scratching your bare skin, isn’t it?
Sadness twists what you see in the mirror and you clench your teeth and break your rib cage and you smash the glass with your fists because looking at yourself in pieces seems more familiar.
IV. You think you’re trapped between two lungs but baby there’s so much more. I hope you never hate your scars because just like stars, they are the scars of the universe, or my universe at least.
It’s so hard to describe an angel when my voice shakes and stutters and no collection of words can ever describe how utterly breathtaking you are. And overtime you move I can’t stop watching you and I swear the earth stands still because it can’t keep it’s eyes off you. I look into your eyes and see heaven, yet I don’t believe in God but I have no problem worshiping you.
You hurt in places I never knew existed even though I’ve been between your veins and the crook of your neck and words tumble out of you mouth I’m okay I’m fine don’t worry, yet you tremble when you speak.
V. I write about you so much to remind you that I’ve not only inked my paper with the thought of you, but i can’t get you out of my head and I hope you stay.
