Turn me over like your favourite novel.
Run your fingers along my spine.
Bite your lip at your favourite parts
Then read between my lines.

The way I loved you was exhausting.
Throwing every fiber of my being in to loving you,
Only to hit a brick wall.
Your closed heart had me searching for doors,
Or maybe a window,
****, I would have been fine with a crawl space,
I could crawl through to get to you.
I was like a book to you,
One that you could never bring yourself to read
Past page three.
And you,
An entire novel I wanted,
First edition,
Signed Copy.

He's thinking about
His book.
And how he's going to write her into it.
She's a shelf that doesn't hold anything
But a few memories here and there
And some day dreams.
Her eyes sting
And her voice just sort of floats above everything else.
Like a sheet of clouds on a hot July morning.
There's really no place to acknowledge a power so fierce
Using just the ink from a couple of pens.
But he's going to try to capture the way her lungs give out
During long drives down busy highways
And her dark glasses always seem to be locked forward.
Her toes curl in her flip-flops
And she never opens her mouth too wide.
How can words describe someone
That only the pounding of a heart can imagine?

I fell in love like the way you fall asleep: like getting hit by a ******* bus that knocks you out of your senses and *In that moment I swear we were infinitely in love but ******* you left me on my own. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company but I find great companionship in your eyes and I'm quite hoping you'll stick around. May the odds be ever in our favor of falling in love again in the empty house we once called mine where i'm divergent and I can only be controlled by my fears (of losing you) that send me recoiling in your arms every night; I solemnly swear that I am up to no good and I spend every second wishing you'd love me like I love you.

Quilted maps attached with tape
Graph paper parachutes paper the room
The unknown is calling
Through 3 by 5 lens
These books brag the stories
That I’ve yet to live

Little Miss Muffet
Sits not on a tuffet
But on a Le Corbusier chair.

Curds and whey
Are not for her
As she is a vegan
And rarely eats between meals.

Along comes Spiderman,
Sits down on a sedan
And questions her
On all things entomological
And graphic novels.

And do you know what?

She is not afraid at all!

She sighs with relief but also despair. The reason why she doesn't like her strawberry blonde curls and requirement to dress feminine are reasons beyond comprehension for her. She always felt that something deep inside her wanted to be Ben. He's Irish, filled with charisma, independent success and sure knows how to wear a thin gold chain. He gets the looks as he walks down the city streets and everyone memorized by his swag. He sings about the pacific northwest with extreme pride, and describes Seattle hip-hop community, human rights issues and major league baseball. She wanted to get fitted flannels, various colored slacks, suave kicks and shave the side of her hair.

While she was going through an abusive relationship when her lover had fallen to a secondary abuse (to only replace the first one), she listened to his words, we are not alone and things are ****** up but there might be a way out. The memories of going down the block during who knows what time, to smoke her pipe and dodge people completely. Endlessly walking down the streets and pondering....blank. Anxiety slowly creeping as she knows her partner is coming home, a full panic sets in and she isn't prepared for whats to come. It's laundry day, which means X amount of time for her to get angry with me, argue and sit there with emotional chaos. It is hard for her to think of these things because she didn't want to believe this was her reality, and she didn't know how to get out. She had bruises on her body that she can't keep track if it was to get away or not, she never set blame on anyone causing them.  Endless nights of constant panic and worry, with her partner slamming out the door and walking around aimlessly and never returning. And when she was alone...totally encapsulated, bed ridden and locking up the doors. Rent was day was always a threat, and so was the debt she had owed me. Oh, and that promise ring that never came that she was so selfish to want, but she wanted to feel special, she wanted to feel loved. She wanted to know why this kept happening to her.

Nothing could make this feeling go away, because the same thing has happened again and she cannot bare to compare. The hopes of rebuilding are there. It's just that mental illness is getting in the way.

She notices she passed out while smoking, turns on her PC and starts another shift.