If there is a chance,
I would like to drink milk tea with you,
to listen to music together,
to walk together in the evening breeze,
to travel together and see the world.
What I mean is,
to be with you.

I love being 22.
I found myself between the deepest of shadows and the brightest of days.
The smell of jasmine as I float through you like a breeze,
Entranced by my elusive and ever waiting presence.
I love being 22.
The taste of salt between my teeth, the feeling of tears stinging my face,
22 to be exact.

The phrase
A *****
Relationship
Sparks memories
In the back
Of my healing
Torn
Heart

But what defines the word *****?
(The dirt beneath my nails)
(the blood beneath the dirt)
Who says it has to be between two people?
(the hand on the arm)
(the arm on the floor)
(the floor cradling the flame)
Still its swimming and swimming
(sinking is another word)
(sinking, swimming, sinking, swimming)
The judgment peeking out from their eyes
(they’re crying too)
(they’re crying alone)
At the word *****

I lather my skin in the mist I’ve grown fond of
Why is it that pink vanilla is the solution to my problems?

I’ve always loved the smell
Comforting; yet, somewhat hostile

I envision the time we spent in silence
When I wear the drops of scented denial

Three years later I savor the fragrance
Spraying my pillow with cycling sadness

Knuckles, my weighted stuffie, reeks of coated plight
I inhale then exhale the memories I can’t wipe

Every night I spread pink vanilla amongst my place of comfort
An easing feeling that deprives me of life with you I can’t falter

I’m stuck behind the bars of memories I can’t deplete
Another night inside the cell of pink vanilla deceit