Bethanie,
She is an ocean
Deep, enchantingly blue and a whirlwind of waves.
A sea of vibrant coral to mimic the Autumn sunsets of summer she brightens your day
    - she is, the gush of salted air on a Saturday morning overlooking the horizon you see her in the colours of the waking sky, swirling and dancing in unison to the delicate crash of each wave she laps at your soul, a touch so delicate it resembles petals.

She is a rose,
Beautiful beyond metaphors and an elegant puzzle that would take a lifetime to figure out. Her kindness is enveloped in her pure actions, twisted like the vines of nature she changes in the alternating light that illuminates her laugh to trickle through life, healing even the deepest wounds.

She is a friend,
One so sincere and true in her own voice. A blessing in my life.

Love is love.
There is no definition to say you ' cannot be this way ' if you love a man or a woman or both or none at all - whoever you embed your heart within  has nothing to do with anyone but you.
Love is love.
Fall for the sunset in her eyes and the laugh she has on autumn evenings, find a world within her soft skin.
Love is love.
Choose his comfort, the way your frail frame mirrors in his body and like a portrait; you're a work of art.
Love is love.
Dance in the compassion of both genders and be a stream of a purple in a world of blue and pink  paint.

Love is love, regardless.

I crave to talk to you about it
However what exactly is 'it'
A whirlwind of issues and trouble, interlaced within my thoughts tinging in red

I wish I could crawl in the comfort of your Autumn coloured arms and nestle my fragile body into your portrait masterpiece.

I wish you'd try to understand,
That this pain wasn't planned. I don't choose to feel a wave instead of ripples, that salty water steals my air because of the force it holds.

I long to explain why I feel drained, why simple tasks are no longer natural and it hurts to walk on glass.

I was clean for a couple months, I'm not really sure how long, I stopped counting on things a while ago.
I'm not talking about drinking, *** or drugs, as i continue to indulge myself in those pleasures, but to a limit. I've never been one to lose myself at the bottom of a beer glass, or let ***** slink down my throat, although I do enjoy the feeling of warmth on my skin, it's soothing, for a change.
Alcohol is a reminder of him, No not a  break up or lost lover, I  wish it was as painless as that. It is more about abuse. The emotional and physical torture of him, how he laughed as his words slurred almost as quickly as my life faded and self harm became a sinister escape from this dooming thing we call, reality.
I thought I was okay. The doctors said I was, that's why they let me leave on the condition of pills but I felt useless having to rely on a smile in a bottle to make me feel, nothing, because I felt too much, at least that's what the nurses said. They wanted me to feel numb, so I did. I let the colour from my paintings disappear with salty tears and the dance in my soul snap,
I became grey in a black and white world, I didn't belong in.
So I stopped taking them and maybe that was the critical error in this sequence, but it felt so good to breathe for once. I could feel crisp air in my blackening lungs and as oxygen seeped it's way through my wilting body, I began to grow petals.
Only I'm not a flower nor a beauty, quite frankly I see myself as the opposite. I'm more like the watering can that feeds my friends and those around me, I guess I cut pieces of me apart in order to give it to others but that's what feeling alone does to you.

It's taken six years and a lifetime of strength to battle these demons that use my happiness to feed on. I pushed away the feelings of before, I tried to ignore, but I failed. I was told to reach out to someone before I let the blades touch me so I tried but I was ignored. Acid tears fell from my dimming blue eyes and without hesitation blades returned and ripped my pale skin, pale in colour and life. I'm told I see beauty in everyone, but never in myself and perhaps that's why the Crimson red looked beautiful on my canvas because there was colour on me. I felt alone and the shiver to my bones but I was found.
Perhaps it's a sign that I should try this living thing, one more time.

' if you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph '
*that explains why he never took pictures of me

I write  poems for people endowing love,
It would be comforting to receive one instead, for a change

you
I'm good with words and creating metaphors on pages that seem to capture my emotions
    but then I met you
and a mere simple sentence or simile cannot compare to you
   I've always been great at guarding my heart and never going too far, but for you I opened my rib cage to reveal my most inner insecurities and unmasked my soul to find comfort in your emerald eyes.
Looking at you I see a home within a person.

If loving is breathing I would take you in with every delicate sigh

The curves of our lips meet and it's like kissing the earth as you colour my mind with beauty, for nothing could be more passionate nor more perfect than losing myself in you.

You are art in the purest form for you make me feel something real.