I am a disorder;
one made up of
irrational fears
of time
and
forever being alone.
I am a disorder;
with blinding insecurities
that question
my own reflection
and
who could ever love me.
I am a disorder;
where my ribs
bend with worry,
my lungs burst
and
I can no longer breathe.
*I am a disorder;
and my disorder is me.

I'm over stuffed;
my bones press with protest
against my skin,
as my ribs bend with worry
and my lungs fill in.

*I'm drowning.

If I could sweep away
my memories,
you would fall beneath
the underside of my stove
with the dust
and
forgotten things.
*And I'll not think twice
about leaving you there.

I look so good in your clothes,
and even in your bed;
With sunlight dripping down my knees
and your fingers grazing my back.
You've melted into my skin,
and invaded my heart and head.
And love is like your fingertips
as they trace my hips and thighs.
Or how your lips race across my collarbone,
and somehow sink into mine.
And you tear me down so quickly,
with one look and that smile.
I don't know how we've ended up here,
*but I hope you stay awhile.

Do you remember when
the world was supposed to end?
Your hands wandered around
my neck and back,
trying to take it all in.
My shape on your fingertips,
my lips on your lips,
and you were trying to forget,
that we will soon not exist.

I'll show you what it's like to touch.
Finger tips
and
your blood,
boiling from temptation;
you'll feel me in your heart.

I'll race through your veins
and occupy your lungs.
I'll show you what it's like to chase,
wasted nights
spent on
pointless thoughts;
you'll never know when to give up.

And I'll peel back your mind,
where it's me that you'll find.
I'll show you what it's like to fall in love.
A restlessness
and
an empty spot;
you'll be begging me to fill it up.

Do not fall in love with a poet.
She will feed you galaxies
until you fall sick in her brown eyes.
Then, she'll steal the stars from your breaths,
pin them proudly to her chest,
and claim that she's the night.

And soon you'll miss blue skies,
and summer highlights in her curls.
And she'll ramble in her sleep,
say things she doesn't mean,
and write poems about
how she could never be the right girl.

But, when you think you've had enough,
her words will somehow pull you right back.
Because despite her moonlit dreams,
she's just what you need,
to fill up lonely blue lines
about all the things you lack.