******* to my wrist when I looked at you,
The pulsating heartbeat with your eyes of blue.
And the cliché’s said you could swim in the colour,
But I was flying into the heat of the Summer.
Feelings were hidden, tightly disguised,
Caterpillars cocooned in my stomach birthed into butterflies.
And as their ****** wings fluttered, I began to mutter, that maybe there’s more to this spell I was under.

Your hair like cinnamon; your palms like cotton,
The hold of two bodies began to soften.
“The lovesick feeling turned into healing,” I spoke,
“You were the scent in my incense, dancing in the smoke.”
I watched your fingers curl into mine;
On the map of your hands, I unearthed our journeys along the lines.
About the new truths of my world, my mind scattered and curled, oh, how beautiful to fall in love with a girl.

I’m tunnel visioned to see only you
Looking at somebody else and
Though I try to, I can’t see any other living thing in my sights.
My mind is travelling down one path, and that is towards your rejection and
Though I try to, my legs won’t turn my body in any other direction.
I cannot see or feel things for anybody else but you,
And perhaps that’s some form of curse for me but a Gods gift for you because at least I only have eyes for you.
While I sit afar and see you with another
Knowing we were never made for each other,
My heart shatters and the pieces scatter,
There’s too many to gather
and hold against the crease of my arm, remaining steady and calm, I leave them be to rest on the floor,
My mind broken. My heart sore.
Like I did the last time someone broke my fragile spine,
Declaring what was mine, was never mine,
And I couldn’t bare to walk out into the sunlight for months,
Only living off the warmth from beams of curtained suns.
My mind is broken. My heart is broken, too sore; my worth has become penniless and poor.
I am forced by my own hand to wait for
Your eyes to scan the room and see only me,
While mine see only yours,
When you think to yourself that I’m worth enough,
For someone like you to finally love.

If I let myself slip, I’ll never make it back out of that state.
I’ll never wake up and perhaps that’s what my subconscious mind desires, but my forefront thoughts don’t want my time to die,
At least, not just yet.
I am self destructive and lonesome and prone to sadness,
Yet I bring this all to myself.
I gamble and win but instead of engulfing the money in my arms, I wrap my hands around burning sobriety chips and self destruction
Comes knocking back on my door and I let him in like he always had a right to come back.
Like he hadn’t crept up on me in my most vulnerable state,
Like he cared about me.
My mind unwise and my life unfair and my thoughts tangled into spaghetti string before I cut it up
Before I make it easier for me to swallow
What is wrong in my life.
What is wrong with me?
I tend to whisper to myself before my eyes close and the tears fall out the edges onto my pillow, leaving a residue in the morning to remind me that I am not as mentally stable as I want to be.

Breathing in your smoke is like heaven to me,
Clearing out my lungs of such anxiety.
Your crutch and your dependence,
An endearing call of resplendence,
I think I loved you.

You make me nervous.
To the point where my brain stops,
And my mouth keeps running
Without any indication of where
the finish line is.
Where I begin to speak too fast and too quick
To know what I’ve said, and quite possibly
For you to even follow each word that
Pours out.

Yet Your heart was longing for another,
You and I were not meant to be lovers,
And We were not made for each other.
Oh, how sad times swept away the positive possibilities and the “what if?” worries,
I thought I could only hate the month of August,
It seems I now despise of July.

Stress melted away within my tears as I wept,
Sadness left the residue of itself on my pillow where I slept.
The sun bleeding through my curtains closed,
And yet my room turns an ill ridden shade of yellow.

I thought the outcome would leave me with a feeling of euphoria
Instead I look to my mirrored self, reflecting a state of body dysmorphia

I do not like the way that I look,
Comparing myself to her and your feelings I mistook.
Straighter teeth and an older complexion,
While I hide away, she only craves the attention.
You only knew her for a day and you still went away,
With her on holiday to a place so far, I can’t stay
In this state of mind any longer.

Seeing her be the lighter to your cigarette;
The founding letters to the jumbled spaces in your alphabet.
I see I am only the ash that falls to the ground,
I am not within those letters which you finally found.

I’m being told to love myself,
But how can I when I wish to be anyone else.
How can I when nobody else wishes to love me,
But instead choose someone better, prettier despite no personality.

I break down all too often, as I stare at my reflection.
Wishing I looked different, praying that tomorrow I’ll look different.
I’m not sure if it was the month or if it was just a need to cry,
But nobody loves me, and neither do I.

My smile shows off teeth that aren’t fixed to perfection,
Sometimes in shop mirrors, I’ll glimpse the reflection.
It brings my mood down, way down below the surface,
And I wish that tomorrow; pray that tomorrow I will look different.

Natural beauty is not my friend,
Make-up won’t stay on my face,
There’s all too much I wish to change,
I’d rather just copy and paste.

In a room full of people,
I’d be last on your list,
She would be first and that’s just how it is.
I’ve come to accept it, yet still dying inside.
She wishes to flaunt and I’d rather hide.
I have little confidence whilst she seeps way too much,
But I guess that’s what you like and I guess that’s what you love.
So a reminder to myself, from present and from past,
To use in the future, your hurt never lasts.
Next time you are deeply hating yourself, and you can’t find the will to live,
Please read this back until it sticks in your head,
And you find the strength to forgive.
Forgive yourself for feeling this way, and know that it’ll pass,
Because your head is held high and within the sky,
You’ll see his face is shaped like an ***.

I am always the second choice.
I am never the one someone falls in love or infatuated with first glance;
I am never the one someone decides to choose when faced with a decision of picking
And I’ve never won a race in my life.

I’m fairly used to this but it doesn’t make it any less painful or disheartening.
To see what could’ve been, turned and changed and placed in another girls hands.
My self confidence gets knocked down like lives in every level of this game,
Whilst somebody boosts theirs with what I lost.

I am, perhaps, too naive and blind to realise that it was all in my head
Despite others seeing what I too saw.
Or perhaps I’m far too boring and uninteresting to keep someone.
Maybe I am better off using my body for temporary people rather than trying to seek someone long term.
Maybe I am not made to be loved in that way,
Maybe I am not made to have people stay with me too long
And maybe I am just a form of use to someone in pleasure than for them to treasure.

I found my self worth buried deep
underneath the core of the problem.
Sulking and wilting in the garden
of his spoken words.
Cruel and unkind surrounding every colour
and every path,
Dripping from every petal and every leaf
to the last
placement of where I no longer seek to be.

I found validation from myself,
Not within the stares from you or
the apparent love from him.
His words are still plastered into my brain
and my insecurity is still worse off,
But I found peace and contentment.
I found optimism and care,
Radiated through my surroundings.

I found that I deserved more than to be
cheated and hurt,
Emotionally distraught to humiliation and
bleeding in bedding.
Suffocation from the sheets and I couldn't sleep.
Now I've found acceptance.
And I can move on.

                                    — validation.

How it is possible for only the sound
of your voice to send me from
sorrowful and stressed to a calming sea,
I'm not entirely sure.
Perhaps it's the softness in which you speak,
Like the gentle breeze weaving through
the sound of the waves
Or the way you're equally as nervous.
I don't know,
But what I do know is that my calming
influence said to be given to you,
Is also bestowed from you upon me.

      — admiration.

I'm afraid that, at one point or another, I'm
going to force myself to stop feeling this
way about you,
As I have done many times before with
others.
It correlates to the feeling of rejection and
hurt,
Enabling me to run away from my own
fears with my cowardice anxiety by my
side,
Gripping tightly to my hand and furthering
away from you.

                                              Whilst there, at this new home and safety
                                                          ­                                               of mine,
                                          A woman asked me of why I'd run. Why I'd
                                                        used up energy to escape a lovingly
                                                        ­                                   positive feeling.
                                                        ­      And created it to be a bad thing.
                                             I explained to her my past, and how it has
                                                          mad­e me fearful of a future in that
                                                            ­                                             regards.
                                                        ­                  She showed me a garden,
                                                        C­olours strikingly bright to the eye,
                                                            ­   Buzzes coming from the insect's
                                                        ­                                            excitement
          ­                                And I'd noticed, within a large group of red
                                                             ­              roses, there laid a yellow
                                                          ­                  Leant against a red rose.
                                                           ­             I asked her, why only one?
                                                      And why within the midst of all red?
                                              She told me she'd painted it, for whatever
                                              reason she wasn't sure, and she was quite
                                                   certain it was slowly killing the flower.
                                        She asked me which I had noticed first, and I
                                               told her the yellow, to which she replied:
                                                   "Out of a large group of red, your eyes
                                                            ­  focused on the yellow. Out of all
                                             negatives, my dear, you should only focus
                                                           ­                              on the positives."
                               "Of course," she added. "Only in these situations."

As cliché as it sounds,
You are consuming my dreams.
And as much as I hate it,
And I wish for you to leave my mind,
I can't really do much else about it other than
accept it and deal with it.

It is my subconscious mind that is allowing
you in,
Letting you create your home in there
and place posters up on the walls of my
brain which you are making your living space.

I dreamt sorrow of you,
I have dreamt contempt
And I've dreamt of love.
All of which had me ****** up in the
morning and throughout the days
afterwards.

And part of me wonders if it's the same for
you,
And if not then how you do it.
How you're able to keep me out of your
mind because I wish to know answers.
I just don't want you occupying my brain
space any longer,
I'm unable to think of anything without
your name or being having an involvement.
I don't like the way that this feels.
I thought I would but I don't.
I'm sick of false pretense in the things I
want to be real.

“You’ve made me feel like ****, again,” I say
to myself mentally,
Aiming it more so towards my anxiety
Yet again.
Another snooping situation, mixed into the
incapability of walking away.

I can’t leave things alone.
My mind wishes to know every ounce of
detail but I, personally, don’t really care.
I want to write, sleep and live freely
without a form of worry blanketing me and
stopping me from breathing in deeply to
calm down.

However I let it do what it pleases,
regardless of whether I’m stuck with a
depressed feeling and sorrowful tune
surrounding me.
I tell myself, “You just have to ride through
it.” And for the first time, it’s easy,
But after that it becomes tiresome and
boring and all you want is for the feeling
to go away.
I am the only person who can make it go
away, but I can’t.
I hold onto it unintentionally, as if a part of
me will disintegrate if I let go.
And so we fall into a never ending cycle of
my anxiety,
Where I ask myself continuously “When will
it end?”
And my mind tells me it’s not entirely sure
but that I should be grateful for what it’s
giving me.
That it’s giving me safety and
cautiousness, helping me not to be
percieved as too naive.
But I don’t care for that much anymore.

So instead of ridding of my anxiety,
I’m always ridding of those who
unintentionally and unawarely have
created it for me.
It’s easier to be rid of you physically than
of something within my own mind.

I felt like we’d already met,
When we met for the first time
And from that moment, my brain refused to let go of you.
It holds tightly onto every memory and every thought,
Regardless of whether I want it to or not.
It’s as if my brain and my heart have discussed that I am no longer part of their decision,
And yet again I am left out of it all.

I remember vividly the time I met you for the fourth,
Our eyes met each other from a distance and as you passed,
Time slowed down with our eyes still speaking to one another.
Desperately longing for some form of an answer to a question that was never asked.

I am terrified of it all,
Terrified that I’ll bury myself too deep into this pit that I won’t be able to climb out myself.
Terrified that my naivety will eat me alive and my thoughts will gradually be consumed by nothing but you.
I don’t see it as loving or romantic,
I can’t help but see it in such a dark light because what’s the appeal in not being able to concentrate on anything but the way your eyes seem to melt their way into mine when you look at me.
Yet, at the same time, I am too tired to fight any of it - I have been told not to, but to embrace it and find peace with it.
That scares me most,
That I’ll become so used to it.
I just wish to be immune.