I am enamored
With the idea
Of being in love

Not the kind of love
Where I say
I love you
And let you meet my family
Or maybe exactly that kind of love
A love like raindrops?
That, as fast as I run away from it
I cannot escape it

I want never ending night skies
But I’m obsessed with sunshine
Especially when it’s raining
Am I my own paradox of eternal delights?
If I am, I think I’m doing a good job of
Whatever this is, for once

I really really like holding on to the past
At this point, my wall is choking
On movie tickets and pictures
But I keep thumbtacks
By my bed anyway
Just in case I need to remember something new
That I didn’t forget in the short walk
From desk to window

It’s not being sentimental, I think
It’s being “sometimes I forget who I am so how do I know I won’t forget how happy feels or how my best friends laugh like sunshine?”

But let’s call it sentimental because
I have a real love-hate relationship with labels

I am the least organized person I know
But I’m constantly labeling people
It’s touch and go, this metaphorical game of tag
Friend, lover, enemy, acquaintance
These labels aren’t permanent
The fingerprints on my skin wash off like chalk in a rainstorm

And let me tell you
I am enamoured with rainstorms
Because when I don’t have an umbrella
They seem to feel a hell of a lot like love

(Him)
Label me with love,
Bind and blind me with your love.
Unstable with your love,
I fall under your love.

Tell me who I am,
And I'll hold onto my secret.
You're a man in woman's land --
You'll never keep me, but I'll keep it.

.

(Her)
She sets the stars in evening light,
Plucks and places firelight.
Fingers gentle, sure and strong,
Lips tell secrets to my palm.
Her kiss lingers, rubbing pink;
I close my fist and keep it for me.
This is love and this is joy --
She's my man, and I'm her boy.
Pray for peace to a god unknown . . .

At the very least, I've found my one.

Love.

It is that
baneful
medicine
we keep
taking...

...even
without
reading
the labels.

they glued labels
on my body
that won't come off
without removing pieces of myself
too
and it hurts
almost as much
as watching them
bend and twist
and break your
body
to fit you inside
a box your heart
has outgrown

whenever i write
i have to write the title last.
i am never sure where
my story is going to go
and i don't want a title
holding me back from writing
whatever i want.
i guess sometimes
people don't realize just how
limiting a title can be.

When I look into the mirror, I expect to see a girl staring back at me who I know is nothing but me.

But when I look into the mirror and see myself all I see are labels.
A whirlwind of insults that takes the place of my reflection, and throws its words at me whenever it sees me.
I know what I should do when I see it.
I know I should just rip them off and show the it I am above the petty labels that it chooses to define me as...

But...

I don’t

I look into the mirror and sink to the ground; balling like a child because I know the labels are true.
I know that everything it tells me is true.
I know because...

That thing is me.

People say things about me when they think I’m not listening.
Friends make a joke without realizing they’ve crossed a line.
I look at myself and know this is how everyone sees.

I don’t embrace these labels.
I don’t let myself stand beside them and act proud and confident.
I sit in the storm and watch as it grows larger and larger with every second a conversation continues.

I’m a coward.
I don’t let people know I hate this.
Don’t let them know I despise the labels everyone sees I have.
I want to tell them I want to change.
I don’t want these words anymore.
I’ve been in pain for far too long, and I don’t won’t to complete another dictionary because I’m too afraid to speak up.
But I never do.
I continue to look at myself in the mirror.
Continue to be a person I don’t want to be.

You notice her Chipped nails
Did you notice her Chipped heart
you notice her ***** hair
Did you notice her ***** house

did you notice that
Was judgement
And mistakes

WHY DO WE ALL HATE.

Yet that girl is YOU, ME,  and
her

We all have our past.
Let’s not have it last.
So please.
No more labels and no more lists.
We are just people
With all of these mistakes and all of this

Can you really label it as self harm
           If it saves you daily
                     From a detached
                                      Senseless
                ­                              Dazed
                                                   Abyss.