real flowers can be heard alone.

I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.

My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.

Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."

My love is... confusion.

I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.

Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?

I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.

What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?

I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.

Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.

Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.

Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.

...is being alone really so bad?

Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.

It's one of those nights
where the cat doesn't come inside.
It's warm enough she doesn't need to,
and it's still light until eleven.

It's one of those nights
where I leave the naked window
open into the twilight.
There's never any cars
this late, late, late.

It's one of those nights
when the door is slammed
by the intruding air.
At least the angled glass
stabs into the night sky with
stiff hinges.

it's too loud.

every thought
stop talking, you're weird
in my head
they don't listen
increases volume
louder. louder.
by the second.

it's getting too loud.
too much.

am i too much?

I miss you,
i miss your voice
i remember when we called for the first time and you said i was the only person you could open up to.
we talked for ten hours straight last weekend
but now you've blocked me

i miss you baby

i love you even though you weren't ready to say it back

were you still caught up on her?