my dad sighs and walks up the stairs
and i don't have many secrets,
but writing things down feels like one.
telling you i don't just want to see the grand canyon,
i want to see you there,
that feels like a secret.

i used to use index cards as book marks so i could neatly write down my favorite quotes/lines from the pages and sometimes i wish i took more pictures so i could do that with moments.
sometimes things last, but sometimes things aren't supposed to,
and i think i'd like to have a few pictures of what time won't let me take with me
(i should take more pictures of the people that make me smile, just in case)

okay my fingertips are glass and i've only used the edges for myself
but while i'm tracing your back I am careful to keep from pricking
and sometimes when we kiss
it feels like we connect and float and glide
and you know they say dancers are really sensitive to movement,
we know how every adjustment means something
every swoop of the head and blink of the eye
and every time you touch my spine
the dancer in me leaps into meaning,
because the way your head tilted is art enough to put to music

lover calls, lover waits
my lover is without a name
she's tuesday nights, she's southern rain
she's everything my mind won't say
her laugh is loud, her soul is dark
still screeching from a broken heart
and day old jokes, and weekend loves
from just always being bad enough

she'll ask me one more time
just for the sake of love
whether my heart is still open
or if i've had enough
and if i had to guess,
if she asks tonight, i'll say
"i love you cause you know my name"
-aprilxcv

i wonder when my skin will feel safe and comfortable again
i know you don't want to be
in this small room that smells like
my grandmother's clothes
(she died five years ago, did you know?)
your hands are on me and we can go ahead and pretend it feels natural
we're kids playing at being grown ups
with mommys high-heels
they have you walking on hell and the shoes are much too big
for your little feet
and the boys, wearing their father's ties which are much too long
they've got daddy's guns too, in the trunk
they've got daddy's drinking habits too
and you've got your big sister's cigarettes
why do they call it seven minutes in heaven when
this feels much more like the
firey place they call hell
we're all smiling, we're all laughing
we're upside down and floating in the sky
asking ourselves why
because we're too shy to say these words
aloud
too high to say these words
underground
we can leave the closet now,
its been far past seven minutes

i loved you like a hot air balloon that was never coming down
but all things run out of fuel eventually
and the higher you get,
the harder the fall.

You know what?

I genuinely believe that I am unlovable.

Not even in the self-pitying way, I just have thought about it and I really think that no one could ever truly love me.

I have too many flaws that get in the way.

If I am imperfect then I can't be perfect enough for them

If I am perfect then I am not the quirky beautifully rare girl they want

I am too violent and weird

I am too hateful and grudging

And the worst part is

I don't even WANT to stop being violent and weird or hateful or grudging

I wish someone would love me for it

because I love those who are deadly loyal, absurd, not afraid of a little violence (not abusive, just to be clear. I do not support that) those who hate things because the more passionately they hate, the more passionately they love as well. And someone who holds a grudge actually cares about things. I would love a boy who was all those things but no guy wants a girl who can't let go of things and spends all her time muttering to herself about how worthless and ugly she is because that has become my hobby I don't even realize I am doing it sometimes.

I just don't think anyone could ever really truly fall in love with me.

That makes me kind of sad I guess... :(