You've got the wingspan of someone who never touches ground
Nothing ever downs what you've got going for you
You have got depth that I cannot fathom
How do you walk the road less traveled
What do you have that keeps your head up
Why does it look so easy from here
Whatever you have
I can't find it
It seems that each of your waking moments are the beginnings of even better days
Chain me to the rocks so that I may better see how to live like you
Blindfold my eyes so I can hear how you walk on
Muffle my ears so I can learn how to move on.

Voices rang in her head as if trying to communicate that something had been lacking for such a substantial time that she no longer saw it as lacking but as the normality that it served in her life.
She became accustomed to the constant lacking of sustainability that it served as nothing but a blanket of sheer comfort to her being.
Uncertainty was the one certain correlation between holding on and feeling fulfillment because it was the only common trait anyone had ever presented at the doorstep of truth she held so dearly to her heart.
She became fixed on it - searching for the ability to communicate emotion and more so the constant question of whether or not her invested time had been to them what it was to her ever longing, love struck, wanderlust soul.
Was she a fool or was she holding onto the parts of those around her that even they failed to recognize exist?
Foolish or foreseeing?
She had yet to decipher the difference and had but the slightest clue as to if she ever would, and that served as comfort to her misguided heart.

My insides swelled begging their casing to break. 

To be set free from the confines they had been expected to find comfort within- to sit with contentment for all eternity, to accept the known with no knowledge of what was outside of their ingrained idealization of a humble abode.

They throbbed, slight at first then gaining vigor as my vitals cried out so sweetly to acquire some sort of insight as to what lie beyond such a feeble body.
Rip me open from head to foot, expose the very reason for physical existence and destroy it. I want to feel my heart on the floor.
Drop my stomach from fifty stories if it means that of a slight fluster of butterflies will evolve into a spontaneous combustion of excitement along with blood-stained pavement for my proclamation of wide eyed wonder, and the butterflies.


Give my hands to those in need.
Sever them with the grace of which graciousness should be felt and hand these hands to the masses reaching for something, someone, to allow those who have fallen to rise above adversity. 

Lend a hand! Lend a hand! For I only have two.

Throw my eyes in places that uplift your soul.

Play the harpsichord of my vocal chords when in need of an extra push.

Keep my lungs, for you were my breath of fresh air.

Lay my skin atop rose petals and let it dissolve.

Throw me to beauty until I’ve become nothing at all.

Allow me to live without limits until I am all gone, for how can one truly experience all that is lovely without turning to it completely.

I want to be of use, you see.

Far from what existing as one conjoined body is set to allow me.


Cut me up into a million parts, spread me far and wide.

Then look to all the humbled souls, as if I haven’t died.

These words remain untitled,
Unsure of their real label.
Do they tell a story of loss or of love?
Of confusion, no doubt.
So many emotions, yet still no left words to describe.
The darkness in which I sit, is almost defining.
The quiet rings against my worn eardrums.
Night, which brings solace to others, brings uncertainty to me.
For I am a victim of tomorrow’s antics.
Memories and dreams draw near to each other,
The pair, a frightening combination.
Torment rakes through my night,
Leaving no sane survivor.
The moon pokes at my eyes to keep me awake.
My regrets and potentials poke at my brain.
Mistake after mistake after mistake,
There is a future out there for me that holds a similar fate.
The question echoes in those ringing ears of mine again.
It stretches and folds against my gyri.
There is no escaping the poison in the thought.
Is who I am enough?
These words remain untitled,
Afraid of their real label.

Am I being used?
Do you actually care..
I feel so unimportant.
Am I simply a *** toy,
An object.
Do you love me?
Want me for more then my body?
Will I ever know?

Ist's hard to fall out of love with him when you're constantly reminded I've just why you fell in love in the first place. You swore you would never say you fell in love again but you did and truthfully maybe you never really fell deeply in  love after him. Maybe you never fell out of love with him either. And honestly you're in love with an image of him...so whenever you see his image on social media the butterflies in your stomach fluster. The beating  of your heart races as every angry you thought you have a towards him disappear, every single one. Because maybe he was your first puppy love maybe he he was your first love maybe he is your true love and maybe isn't/wasn't and even though it kills you to be away and not know something inside you will forever be reminded of your love for him even if he'll never be yours.