-- bilet-doux

an autumn evening
warmth as the sunlight filters through my window
perfectly white daisies make a flowery scent
a burning candle, the smell of flames
on paper i write to you

"my love
i am surrounded by scents but none of them smell quite like you
i am surrounded by warmth but it is nothing like the warmth of your body on mine
no matter the situation, you are always the first thing that comes to mind
i miss you"
busily, the pen scratches, coming to a halt

i think

how do i tell my love that the longing heartache that i feel in his absence is nothing / compared to the heartache i feel when he comes / only to leave
how do i tell my love i do not want him to come back unless it is forever
how do i tell my love that he causes me so much pain ;
giving me only a glimpse / when i deserve a lifetime

i think

the pen doesn't touch the paper
i fold and seal the letter
how do i tell my love

bilet-doux --

Why does red always have to be the neglected pen color
It’s such a bright vibrant color but no one wants to use it
People need to know that red is powerful
But also passionate and beautiful
You need not fear the red pen
Instead of seeing danger we need to see love
Because isn’t love what we all look for
And seeing red will now only mean love
We can save the red pen

Pen to paper.
This pen keeps writing the image of you.
Metaphors bleed into the shape of you.
These similes framing your likeness like a photographer his finest pictures.
You are personified as nature but it is nature that draws inspiration from you.
For whatever reason, this pen always wants to write about you.

Hit the pen
Pick up the pen
Bleed ink
Till you’re free of sin
These poems are confessions
These poems are life lessons
That I was second guessing
Mistaking curses for blessings
One night stands
Instead of weddings
Who I am
Is foretelling
Of where I’ll be
Heading
The world’s ending
Is Armageddon
And I know what I’ll be regretting

All the poems in the world
Won’t get me into heaven

I
Have
So
Much
To
Say,

If
I
Write
It
This
Way,

You'd
Have
To
Scroll
Down
Forever,

There
Is
No
Perceivable
End
To
Miseries
In
Life,
For
All
The
Things
I
suffer.

I'd
only
write
down
the
only
thing
that
is
going
in
the
right
direction
in
my
life
at
present.

The pen.

I wish I was a pencil
So that when I do commit mistakes
I can always try to undo

But I realized
I'd preferably be a pen
It cant be erased
but I can always thrive...

to correct it

The first time I contemplated suicide was at the age 13.
Sleeping pills. Just like mom.
I wanted to dream forever.
Many more occurrences followed that year.

The next was at the age of 15.
Cutting. Finally had the courage.
I took a broken shard of glass and I
Finally found the anger inside of myself.

Following that was the age of 17.
Self inflicted pain. Heartache seemed worse at the time.
I dug my nails into my skin.
Making scars seemingly physical now.
I finally found a way to release the pain.

Last night,
I contemplated suicide.
I promised that I wouldn’t go through with it.
But who cares?
Who could stop me?
Who would want to?

I’m happy.
I swear, I am.
You know I am.
I only fake it a little bit.  

But sometimes,
I don’t think I can do this anymore.
I don’t think I can live anymore.
At least not by myself.

I hated myself,
And time and time again.
The hate seeps through the bleeding cuts.

Sometimes I starve myself.
Sometimes I hurt myself.
Sometimes I hate myself.  

Sometimes I contemplate suicide.

But tonight
I cut the pen into paper.
Bleeding out my vulnerability in hopes to die poetically.