The day Astrid fell in love with Mars was the day the beginning of the end started.

'I love you', he said. 'But I am not in love with you'.
' Interesting', she said. 'You never bothered to clarify when you were on top of me'.

They kissed there for the very first time.
Their hearts pounding as the storm lashed the trees.
They made love there furtively on the grass.
The first humans to ever make love.
Five decades later, their grand kids stood there, a faded b/w picture in hand.

The old windmill smiled.

Beautiful is how she sees herself. She is
Always full of questions for the one who has the answers. She is full of
Youth and vibrancy. Always taking chances and risks, busy
Living life to the fullest extent. She is more
Intelligent than she gives herself credit for.
Exuberant to the point of sickness.

Always asking the questions no one wants to answer. She easily gets
Lost inside of her own mind. She
Yearns for summer. But all she has are memories of all the
Summers of years past. If
Only she would realize that all we have is today and tomorrow will
Never come if she is too

Busy living in the past to
Accept and enjoy the pleasures of the now. She remembers all too well the
Remnants of days that didn't go as planned and if she's not careful she will get lost inside the
Remnants. She tries to remember that
Every day is not a reminder of yesterday, but a second chance
To live better
Tomorrow.

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.


    No light had we: for that we do repent;
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent.
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.


    No light: so late! and dark and chill the night!
O, let us in, that we may find the light!
Too late, too late: ye cannot enter now.


    Have we not heard the bridgegroom is so sweet?
O, let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet!
No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now."

1)Spill out your heart in a poem and write every single little detail about how he makes you feel like your body is on fire but in a good way
2)Reject your poem, and substitute the two hundred thirty nine words with three letters “hey”
3)Feel the pain of talking to someone who has no idea what flirting is
3)Tell yourself you are not taking a direct enough approach
1) Spill out your heart in poetry and write every single little detail about how he makes you feel like your body is on fire
2) reject your poem, and substitute the two hundred thirty nine words with three words “So whats up”
3)Feel the pain of talking to someone who has no idea what dating is like
4)Tell yourself you will not worry over how you look for him
4)Tell yourself you will not worry over how you look for him
4) Tell yourself you will not worry over how you look for him
5)Be friends with his friends
6)Watch his favorite show
7)Imagine every good way this could end
8)Imagine every bad way this could end
9)Tell yourself you will be his friend, nothing more
10)Write two hundred and thirty nine words to tell him what he does to you
11)Wait for him to read your poetry

There are blotches of red marks on my skin, my face,
bags under my eyes, 
I get around 5 hours of sleep most nights 
but every morning I still feel like I haven't slept in a century. 
This is a different kind of pain.
This isn't a migraine, or a stomachache. 
This is more than a stomachache. 
This is waking up every morning to arms full of scars that are so ******* triggering,
A stomach screaming "feed me" but skipping breakfast and lunch 
because I swear to ******* god, I've gained weight. 
This is a different kind of pain. 
This is my first poem in months which is why 
it doesn't fit together perfectly 
but since I penned all of my thoughts about 
my eating disorder, my self harm, my mental illnesses and my boyfriend,
I didn't have anything to say, 
I'd given my voice away by that point 
and that caused a different kind of pain.

She’s drilled holes into her temples
And tried to pull out memories with her bitten fingernails
She’s recited everything she’s said and heard
Into a ***** toilet bowl every night on the hour
She’s weeped a million times over
From her eyes and from her wrists,
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

And now the scars left over can’t scab
The phrases are written in morse code on her body
Her will has been evicted along with her soul
And she’s become zombified, a living piece of parchment
From which she’s tried so hard to erase the words
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

The sound of a voice tears hers apart every day
And the words they form she’s come to despise
So she’s taken up book burning,
Making every letter ever aimed at her head run for their lives
She’s even made her own name take off, and now she’s
Desperately pleading for eternal silence to be her savior
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

So when you see her in the hallways, she pretends she’s invisible,
Pretending that her presence won’t have any meaning to it,
Pretending that she’s not important enough to be noticed,
Because her motto is fake it
Until you make it.
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

And the ones that have told her she’s not good enough,
That she’s better off dead and no one will care,
They laugh at her and then they forget.
They come back around the next day to laugh at the same joke.
She looks in the mirror and tries to laugh like them,
Laughing so much, she begins to cry,
But the thing about remembering is that you don’t forget--

So when you hug her and tell her it’s alright,
That you love her and tell her she’s worth more than life itself,
Sing it to her, so she won’t forget.