What are the odds of finding someone -
who can finish your sentences -
who will let you cut in line -
who knows not to just lend a hand, or an ear when you need them to give you their spine -
who will keep every secret, save every letter, tell you how you really look
who will remember every single one of your birthdays -
without checking Facebook?
What are the odds of finding someone who knows your poetry by heart ?
I will always see you for the alley-oop.
I will always save you a seat.
I will always pick you to be my partner even though you are terrible at handball.
When the fire takes all you have, my home will be your home.
When you are old and can no longer remember my face, I will meet you for the first time again and again.
When they make fun of your accent, I will take you swimming because we all sound the same underwater.
When Ellis Island tries to erase your past, I will call you by your real name.
When they call your number for the draft, I will enlist to fight beside you.
And I will march with you from Selma to Montgomery and back as many times as it takes.
We will stand together against the horses and the dogs -
They could tell you how rare this is.
But they could tell you how rare this always is.
The chances are slim.
The cards are always stacked against you, the odds are always low.
But I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.
I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save some for later.
I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rains fall hard.
Love-
I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself.
I want to be air in your lungs that reminds you to breathe easy.
When the walls come down -
when the thunder rumbles -
when nobody else is home, hold my hand -
and I promise -
I won't let go.

i changed for you
started parting my hair differently
wore shorter skirts
and painted my toenails
and i kept asking myself,
why am i doing this?
and it was all for you
the dumb attempts at extra eyeliner
i changed my laugh
and the way i wrote my a's

they always tell you
"be yourself"
but, i don't even know who myself is
I've been digging
I've tried so hard
i don't know who i am

i tried to be fragile
and when that didn't work
i acted like nothing could break me
i am so **** lost
and i can't seem to find my way out

i was reaching for your hand
i couldn't find it
and i guess
i never will

When I first met you, you took me back to the 70’s,
With anarchy, *** pistols and beer soaked blazers,
****** jeans and pipe dreams and your love for jumping off of tall things
under the impression you could fly,
You spoke to me and I felt the whole weight of my body collapse down,
And to this day I thank my knees for not buckling.

your eyes are deeper than any poetry i've ever read.
i've tried to write them in six-word poems
but it can never quite capture their depth.
i've tried rhymes
and sonnets
and haikus
but i end up dreaming of them instead.

i'm lying on the roof
looking at the stars in the skies
and wish i were looking
at the ones in your eyes.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

The woman was crying with fear
He has come her time is near
Feeling the warmth of her salty tear
Shouting you shall die here

His trembling voice, became louder and deeper
For he is the one and only grim reaper
Her time is short his presence awaits
They say that life depends on ones fates

But this woman is apparently to late
She has waited till the age of 88
To be saved from the evil hell gates
She has not yet been saved from birth date

He laughs in her face
Swallows her up in place
But who could say that was cruel and mean
Hey, it's Friday the 13th.

when you waved and smiled
i thought for a second
maybe
just maybe you waved at me
but i was dumb and wrong
because i turned around
and saw a pretty girl with perky eyes

ive never known love
ive never had the feeling
that someone will always
be willing to hold your hand
and thinks you're beautiful
when you haven't showered for two days
and how even when you feel so small
they make you feel big again

i wish i knew
oh god i want to know
love is like a secret
everyone knows but you
love is like an inside joke
your friends never told you
the whole world seems in love
and here i am

because you only like the girls
with cherry lips
and buys tongues
and laughs that carry
through a storm
i am not one of those girls
you like girls with warm hearts
and although mine is warm
hers is burning hot
and mine is a lingering luke warm

and ****, i bet your lips taste like diet coke and mint
and i bet every time that stupid song comes on
you sing really loudly
and i bet you and her dance to it
because you are in on the secret
that is better known as love