I tend to get distracted by nature
too often.
I stare at sunsets while driving,
       almost swerving into the other lane
    wanting to follow it.
I ignore my teacher's lectures just to
  peer outside the window;
the leaves seem greener when it rains.
Even as I'm writing this I keep glancing
behind my back towards the window,
  after every line

My favorite thing to do
   is to lay on the grass,
eyes towards the sky,
           watching the clouds roll by
   imagining I'm lying on top
                 of one
           instead.

I hope my words reach you.
I hope they pace through your mind
and make you think of
who you are and
what you did
all the time.
I hope you read them.
then read them again.
and again.
over and over until you drown in them
when the metaphors and the tear-stained
phrases wash over your body like
I once did.
I hope you think about your past
and see why
it never could last
and realize why I have to
distance myself from you.
even though sometimes I get this urge
this urge that stronger than the
push and pull of the moon and our waves
to send you a message.
just one.
It'd read something like "I miss you. even though
I'm not supposed to miss you I do
and I can't go a day without having you
stroll through my thoughts"
but I can't.
we weren't meant to be together now, maybe never.
but I hope you read this words
and decode them like you do
music. and see that 75% of my poetry
has been about YOU. and I just can't help myself.
read my words.
listen to me.
but don't act on it.

"I am, I am, I am."
  her words rest on the page
she wrote this at peaks of hopefulness,
     when courage wrapped around her
neck instead of a rope.

but for me the words keep beating
     through me, endlessly, with my heartbeat
            but I am not hopeful,
       nor being held by courage.

           What am I?
I am ... alone
     I am ... empty
            I am ... missing him

how cliche of me to say.


I think of him,
    I can't help it.
his scent washing over me,
     drowning in his cologne,
choking me.

    "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart,
                           I am,
                                     I am,
                                               I am."

we need time to grow
like vines grow on the sides of buildings
someday we'll slowly start to intertwine
with each other
not yet, though.

The first step to living
was cutting my hair.

I cut it so I wouldn't have anything to hide behind when I'm scared
no more waves to sink into no more lake to drown in.
I was slowly pulling myself out of the ocean of anxiety but still rocking back and forth in a boat that had a leak in it. I kept trying to cover up the hole but no matter what I did it still reached me.
The ocean was always cold, no matter the weather. It only seemed to carry sharks that circled my boat day in and day out.

I went to the beach once for a week and every time I'd try to have fun in the ocean the waves pushed me down and almost ripped my bikini off at least 5 times, I can still taste the salt in my mouth just thinking about it.
The best part about the whole trip wasn't being with the sharks, it wasn't falling down in the ocean, it was simply riding a bike through town, having the wind whisk away all my worries.
I wish I could ride that wind. Ride that wind until I land on the moon, where I could be alone but still having the most attention. I am that girl who craves love and affection but is confused as **** when it is given to me.
Maybe that's why I pushed him way; not just because he was a bad kisser. Or maybe it was because every word I said went through him like it was nothing, I ended up repeating myself time and time again only to hear the echo of my voice.
this time it's different, though. when he kisses me I kiss him back with as much force as he gave. I touch him when he touches me and boy, I cant keep my hands off him. he listens to me and his takes every word I say and puts it in his pocket, ready to bring it up later. he's the only boy that loves my hair as short as it is and knows that I hate the ocean. He is like the cave that sits near the ocean, ready to take me in and hold me in his arms for as long as I need him to. He shelters me from the ocean spray.

His hands are ice cold
  They grab a hold of my insecurities
and won't let go.
         He is speechless
                     -in awe, even.

His kisses are hard
               -hard to forget.
   Energy courses through
his lips and into my body sending
        me into shock,
                   falling into him.

His hair wrapped around
       my fingers;
he'll listen to any word
      I say,
         except when I ask him
to check the time.

Driving on the back roads,
          we take the long way
to my house.
   Our hands intertwined
like we'll never meet again.

We stop a block away from
where I live,
     one last kiss
            in the dark.