Who is she but blood of that demise
In fiery passion her own blood consumes?
Like powder waiting for the heat of flame
Whose heat in lonely agony she bathes?
What is it but fire of that demise
Whose sacrificial prodigies be made
To keep him superstitious of the flame?
And in triumph, like fire, they consume.

I send text messages like it's an art form. Subtle, curious glances at a blinking light that comes not nearly enough, quick replies like fluid in my fingers. I am the new generation. I am the electronic daughter of a turntable and a symphony, the quiet-on-the-outside-until-someone-calls-my-name burst of energy who comes in like a thunderstorm and leaves like a gust of wind. I love like a wildfire, dance across life like a firefly, and drown myself in the quick distractions of a busy, lights-flashing-so-bright-it-hurts world.

I grab, reaching for bonds that aren't there, pull him underwater with me and clash with him like two hydrogen atoms, then burst apart in a flash of light. Love for me is an atom bomb. Love is an explosion. Love is quick encounters, kisses in the dark, passion in bright bursts that come and go as fast as lightning strikes the earth.

And, gods, I want him.

I cry to love him, sleep fitfully to think of him, and cannot desire for more than to run from him. I want to reach out, reach forward, reach into him, grab for something, nothing, anything that can promise me he will or won't lead to another broken promise.

Lips touching, pulling me down, leaving me screaming out for air because my air not oxygen, it's nothing but him and the scent of him and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me and

I

can't

breathe

My eyes keep flickering to the green light. I groan, and type another message.

I've got it so bad for this boy

I understand. Have you talked to him about it?

no way,,,, im a hot mess. he's too much for me, seriously

Young love.

seriously man don't do that I'm so frustratingly dependent rn

You love him. 

do not

Do so.

I throw the phone down, pull a stuffed animal towards me, grumble to myself, and look for the flickering light. Nothing. No response. I press my palm to my forehead and return to music, but it isn't enough.

You love him.

do not

Like a symphony of lights and sounds knows how to love. She doesn't, I don't, not really, but I know how to reach, how to desire, how to drown myself with the semblence of a feeling. I wish I knew how to love, and I wouldn't mind if he taught me, but can I love now? After I loved that once and it was ripped from me? I don't know how. I don't remember.

he ****** me up, dude, i don't even know if this is love or if i'm trying to replace the feeling i had with you-know-who with someone else

I don't think so. He tried to ground you, and I don't think you really want to replace that

it's like risking true love for the safe option

"true love" What

I'm just saying... that's how i was with him really. it was love once but it distorted into more of a safety net

I guess. But you can love someone again, honey. You just have to figure out how

yeah i do. somehow. god help me

You can do it

unsent: maybe. or maybe im hopeless

It's easy to dream when you're lost. Hope is a powerful thing. They say I'm part of a generation lost in the glamour, but are we? Are we lost in the glamour, or are we losing ourselves in the flashing lights to avoid the reality of life, that stuff *****?

Maybe we'll figure out how to love again, or maybe they're right. Maybe I got lost in the glamour.

Maybe the wildfire will never go out, the wind will never stop, and the lights will keep flashing.

Maybe I'm hopeless.

quiet whispers;
please, my kitten
you're safe here
and you;
she loves me
as if that made
all the difference.

me;
i couldn't save her.
sobbing
in the darkness
you loved her.
her;
you took her away.

too late,
but i still take
the blame, as i
once did, always.

love;
poison.

her love;
an aphrodisiac,
lethal.

you;
i love her.
the last to kiss
your warm lips
quiet whispers, me;
i'm so sorry.

her, finding comfort
in the arms of
your best friend.
and i cry.

in death,
you are frozen,
and she is
unchanged.

islamophobia
at its finest
you couldn't have spoken truer words
three years before injustice
fell cascading down upon your head
like rocks
each one labeled
hate
fear
terror
and it's that label, drenched in your blood
that begs and screams to be renounced
i am not a terrorist
no,
you aren't, but every pale-skinned man
who doesn't know the pigment in your skin
as anything but dirt
couldn't see the difference
so yet, we fight
for you
your love, your voice
for every child that lives in fear
we will charge on
your skin tone
is not a death sentence
and the media who doesn't know 
their right from their united left
will hear us
we do not need you
we do not need you
we do not need you
us many times as God will give us strength
we will charge on
for you
for them
for Palestine
for Syria
for every fear-filled child
we will remember
and for each one fallen,
trapped beneath the rocks
hate, fear, terror
we will set you free

i was a cold, sad girl
tiny, too tiny, oh so tiny
but never enough to be
that girl
the ballerina with wings
instead of feet
cold, so cold
chilled to the bones
that fed my obsession
and taunted me
the desire to grow wings
the haunting feeling
feathers brushing my shoulders
but weight, so much weight
flight held down with bones like anchors
i had no perseus
to unchain me from the rocks.
i was a cold, sad girl
who needed just enough
to cut the chains myself
to give life to my wings
and fly away

At the end of the day,
she smiles. She is happy,
and that's all I ever wanted.
Choking back something
that sticks in my throat and
waters my eyes,
She's happy, and I'm not.
I should have been more careful 
with my wishes.