I long for home.
not the place I grew up, nor the house I live in.
I don't long for an apartment, or a city.
I want to go home,
to your arms.
to your eyes.
to your voice.
let me come home.

through all the tears and superstitions all i can tell myself is

"he'll never hurt me"

i go home and weep for you
i rot away in your clothes desperatly trying to get your scent onto my skin
i rewatch our videos trying to engrave your voice into the ridges of my skull
i place my hands the same places yours resided, trying to remember the way your hands felt against my skin

everytime i look at you my heart breaks a little more

im simply a flower in a childrens book.

people pick off my petals to find out if their one true love
.... loves them not.

im simply a flower,
with brightly colored petals that can drift on a summer breeze.

simply i wither in the cold winter months,
becoming prone to the monsters that hide under my bed.

im simply a flower,
delicate and pretty yet when you look at me long enough you can see the rough dented ridges.

im simply your flower, so take care of me. im oh so delicate,
i hope you can see.

dont pick off my petals to know if i love you, just know that i grow under the moonlight of your love.

so youll never need to know by ripping me apart,
just know ill plant seeds in your heart.

I've lived thousands of lives
walked thousands of places
talked to thousands of people
loved thousands with all my heart.
yet if I could do it all again,
I would chose to love you, even if its just for a second.

my fire was blown out by the words you carefully whispered in my ear each morning.
the day my fire went out became the day your chains bound me to your love, and held me in place slowly feeding me pain and heartbreak

I can still feel the way your eyes burnt into me.
the way your lips traced every curve of my body.
the way you held me.
I can still feel you, and your presence
but to you I'm a stranger, and nothing more than that.
a stranger that once kissed you with ever ounce of passion they had.
a stranger that spent hours, days, months, years even, studying ever scar, ever mark, every way your body moved.
but of course, strangers do that.
I'm just the stranger that walks around with your deepest secrets.

these are the days were the voices grow louder than my own thoughts
were the feeling of postmortem flutters through my head like a butterfly,
allowing my childhood thoughts to chase after it, with hope and light in their eyes
and all I can do is watch the light fade and the memories dissipate into thin air.
allowing myself to fall deeper and deeper into the thought

of postmortem.

i’ve taken up journaling.
spilling my feelings between thin lines and smudged ink.
although, my words are not articulate enough.
i don’t describe my feelings in a way that is poetic or neat, it is only human.
who am i preforming for?
if only my soul is to read these pages,
why must i put on an act?
why must my words of melancholy, rage, and hopefulness be reworked.
a beautiful home, without a foundation.

i sit in my living room, surrounded by the people that find me utterly perfect.
but all i can do is think of how 'perfect' i was to you,
though there was always someone more perfect wasnt there.
cause if i was your definition of perfect you wouldnt be calling him that.

I made a playlist for you once,
made of all the memories you have poured into me.
you've heard it before, not knowing it was made of my love for you.
the songs I sing to you, the words I quote to you, they all come from this simple playlist
consisted of the sparks you've ignited in me.

as i laid there, my whole body shaking
struggling to breath
to talk
to hold my dinner down
you held me to your chest and sang.
and in that moment i realized
i fell even more in love with you
than the day i became,
the one you call your own

this years curtain call is coming shortly,
and i still wish i could spend the winter months holding your hand.
you know how cold mine can get.
yours are always so warm.

sometimes i think about the emptiness of my bed,
and imagine you laying there.
breath steady and even, your arm draped around me.
i imagine your shoes by the front door.  
thrown next to mine, probably in a hurry to sit down.
i imagine your glasses next to the kitchen sink
as we do dishes together and laugh about the water splashing up at us.
i imagine your clothes in my hamper, and mine in yours.
i imagine your books mixed into my book shelves, and your dvds laid next to mine.
i imagine a life that may never be,
a life with you still in it.
a beautiful life, filled with the softest of dreams.

i need you to tell me that this wasnt for nothing.
that the sunflowers growing in my front yard grew from the sheer amount of love i poured into them,
rather than the fertilizer i packed into the dirt.
i need you to hold my face in your aching palms and tell me ive changed.
that my eyes shine like honey, and my skin glows in the moonlight.
that the promises i made many years ago have grown flowers in your heart and spread its seeds to the people around me.
i need you to tell me im good.
please tell me im good.