When we talk
We reckless teenagers
We rebels without causes
We James Deans of the world

We talk about wanted tattoos
"A 3 on my back"
"Wings"
"On my lip"

And piercings
"My nose"
"My belly button"

And alcohol
"Icelandic chocolate"
"*****"
"Whiskey"

Because we want to do the things
We can't
We're on the edge
The brink

Does that make us reckless?
Greedy?
Something to be laughed at?
It makes us human.
We're greedy.

We want to be different
So we sit in circles
And curse and drink

And play stupid games
Like truth or dare
Because we're reckless
And we talk about ***
Talk back to our parents

Because we worship sarcasm
And complain about how poor we are.

What else can you expect
From artsy
Reckless
Hipster
New York kids?

I love the way you look in the moonlight that filters in through the window
(I love the simple fact that you are here with me in the moonlight)

Your hair smells amazing
(I inhale you every chance I get in every state you are in and hold it in my lungs because I want it to intoxicate me)

Your hair looks fantastic
(it floats downward from the top of your brilliant mind and cascades like your thoughts, pours like your words in our half-drunk midnight conversations)

Your smile is so pretty
(when you smile at me it lights me up and makes me feel, if even for an instant in this time of my life that is so shambled and broken, whole)

Can I have a hug?
(hold me, embrace me, envelope me, if only to let me know you are real)

Let’s go to bed
(where I can confuse physical love with emotional, take refuge in confirming our relationship with *** because it’s easier than risking my whole trust, easier than leaving myself bare before you with the certainty that one day, eventually, you will tear my heart out and crush it)

No, that’s ridiculous. Why would you say that?
(I’m terrified that you know me so well)

I don’t think I can make it tonight
(I’m terrified that you know me so well)

Can’t we talk?
(I get it, you backed away because I did but I’m going to blame you because I can’t blame myself, don’t you see? Can’t you see how utterly self-absorbed I am but also woefully lacking self-confidence? I refuse to share any of this with you, I can’t let you know it but if you saw it I’d acknowledge it, at least I think I will, and you know me so well so why can’t you see it)

I don’t think we should see each other anymore
(please, please, please make me realize how utterly foolish I am. Please slap me and scream at me)

Say something
(your total lack of reaction destroys me more than anything)

You look really pretty
(so beautiful, majestic, magnificent and I love you. I love the tears I have made you cry so silently and I hate myself so much for this moment because of that. I love you and only now as you walk away do I realize it)

Fine. Go.
(the ease with which you leave is painful and will linger for years)

…
(Please stop walking, please. I was wrong. Please.)

Speaking with only seventeen years seen so far,
I say assuredly, the secret to longevity is Insanity.
Once a day -Twice to be Safe, Thrice to be sure- take two spoonfuls of Crazy.
Dance, Sing, Cry, Scream in Wonder!
Yell at the Universe, I am here! I see, I feel, I love, Oh
I am here! See me, Smell me, Shake me with passion
And a Sweet Scatterbrain

I like to wander to places
Places full of letters,
Places full of words,
Places full of stories.

My eyes are burning with passion,
Letters swim across, in front of me.
They pull me in, never letting go.
I'm trapped in a story I cannot fathom.

I am a part of a story.
A story filled with emotions,
Lessons, reasons, and seasons.
Yet, I am only on chapter fifteen.

I am a character of a story.
A character who has problems,
But caring, appreciating, and understanding.
I'm still trying to find a place in this world.

My life is a plot.
I will never know what would happen tomorrow.
The tranquility of time scares me.
I don't want to be afraid anymore.

Our story is unpredictable.
We are in a book of life.
A dictum of peace.
A tiny spark of hope.

Don't close your part of the book yet.
Something good is still happening.
Never ever regret.
This isn't the end.

The desires drifting at the edge of one's mind,
The vibrant colours of possibility,
That flash behind fluttering eyes.

Where one can reside in the tranquility,
Of their own imagination;
Free of deprivation and distress.

An inviting resort for images,
And lightning-like flashes of inspiration,
To mold into creative bliss.

Where sparks of enlightenment,
Are set free,
And may conquer the doubt of the unworthy.

The solid confines of an otherwise open mind,
Inaccessible consciously,
Safe from the nightmares of reality.

All must learn to pursue dreams,
Persuade destiny,
And crave the capability of our minds.