She’s the type to eat a bowl of ice cream,
shoot a gun, and be fine. I’ve never seen so many pieces
under someone’s rug before, but she keeps
herself in cookie jars, in ink cartridges, in book binds,
anything she can find. I’m surprised she even looks
in the mirror anymore. It’s not possible that she’s herself whole.
But she braids her hair back when she rides her horse,
she channels old Miranda Lambert
and pumps that kerosene melody through her veins
like it wont’ catch fire. I’ve seen her
poke her head through old sweaters like she thinks
it’ll be something new this time. I’ve seen her paint
her skin in expensive body washes, the washcloth
like sandpaper as she tries and tries to smooth
all of the uneven edges she’s collected.

I bet you could watch her memories in a wishing pool,
like in a mini mall, with all the pennies heads down.
They would spin themselves around the surface,
suffocating one another so that only the good ones would shine,
but she dare not pour herself into something that reflective.
It would only reveal what she ties into the waistband
of her old American Eagle jeans every morning,
and that would just be too **** hard. It’s easier
to venture ******* with a crummy perspective
and a realistic approach than it would be to even consider
that maybe this time it wasn’t her fault
for expecting to much, and that maybe people just ***** up.
That maybe, for once she wouldn't blame it on it getting her hopes up
that made her fall, but that no one was there to catch her.
I’d rather watch her cry herself to sleep for months

than to pretend I admire the harsh falsetto she bites back
in all of her lullabies. But she’s the type
to burn old pictures for fun, to delete contact names,
to swallow all her sadness and paint her bedroom a new color
than watch herself come undone.

"Life is art,  it's this huge blank canvas that we paint stories on every moment since the day we were born."

I look at you and I can feel the hairs on my skin standing up from the electricity building between us,
I look at you and I can see the stars in your dark brown eyes.

I look at you and I can hear the song we listened to in the car on our first date stuck on replay,
I look at you and I can taste the saliva drowning my mouth waiting for you to touch me.

I look at you and I can see your chest rising and falling to the same beat as my heart, saying that we not two, but one.
I look at you and I can hear your smile, saying that I am forever yours, and you are forever mine.

I have hands that shake
And eyes that wonder
I have a heart made of glass
That people often shatter

I have fingers that fiddle
And thoughts that swarm my mind
I have a head full of lies
And a record stuck on rewind

I have friends that laugh
And friends that cry
I have pain stabbing at my chest
With a long dull knife

I have blood dripping from my insides
Pouring from my soul
I have droplets on my sheets
And ink stains turning into a poem

I have dreams that turned to dust
That blew in the wind
I have dandelions growing from my lungs
And black rose petals are my sin

I have oxygen that is actually toxic
And hate that turned into joy
I have burns that feel like relief
And love that is seen as a decoy

I have hands that shake

This feeling is contagious
Spreading like wildfire
Burning everything in its way
Its not a sore nose, or a cough
Is a sickness deep in your heart
A constant aching pain
Like stubbing your toe
Its not a still beat,
Its just a loud throb
Aching for hands to hold
For arms to be carried in
And for eyes to linger at

Theres this tree beside my old house that we used to live in when my parents were still together, occasionally I drive by, park my car, and stare at the tree that holds so many memories.
I remember climbing the branches higher and higher till my mother screamed from the porch telling me I would fall if I got any higher, ignoring my mother I climbed a few branches higher, listening to the wind sing and the birds harmonize in a beautiful melody, I remember feeling on top of the world, that sensation that I could be anything.
A five year old girl, with curly blonde hair and green eyes dreaming of the world as a huge place that she couldn't get each of her feet on every inch of the earth, it was a scary thought at the time, but peeking out of the branches she always saw a light, maybe it was the sun, but I saw it as hope. That one day the world  won't seem so big anymore, that i'd be able to swim the oceans and hike the mountains.
I'm sixteen now, watching this tree full of memories. Tears form in the sockets of my eyes. Because now I realize that the world is just a little too small, its overwhelming. There are billions of people in this world, and I'm just one. Tears stream down my face, wetting my cheeks, and I can't contain the animal caged inside me, so I release the beast. Bursting into a sob, I see a girl, with blonde curly hair climbing the branches on the tree of memories, her mother yelling from the front porch, telling her to climb down before she gets hurt. Her green eyes lock mine for a second, and she climbs higher, smiling as the sky fills her heart.