If I could be the perfect me
I’d be a perfect poet.
My hair would be long and blue
And I wouldn’t need anyone. Not even you.
I’d be a little too skinny
With long, lanky legs.
And freckles. Oh, the freckles i’d have
If I was a perfect me.
My eyes would resemble spring
Clean cut grass.
Eye lashes like the stem of an Allium
And shoulders like a mountain;
cut and pale.
I wouldn’t have you in my veins
And nothing would mean anything.
I wouldn’t need your permission to breathe

Or to just be me.

*(r.e.)

I am, not be, something I can not see.
And it turns me tormented to face
my own reflection, over and over,
closer and closer, to cutting that nose
from my face. And laughing as I do so.
But instead he mimics my lack of conviction.
And he winds fictions of me falling slow,
trying to hold the curves of the world as I do so.  

Even Atlas' strength was humbled by it;
The weight of this world could never have
been on my shoulders. But thats where I feel it sits.
So selfish, so arrogant. I am but not be.
I do not ever tell of this weight on my neck.
Instead in quiet torture I find my own respect.

crying is a sign of being strong
and i am weak
like the shoulders that support me

Help me breath again
And make my heart swing.

I want you to be
The one to shuffle with me,
Be the rock I lean on,

And let your shoulders meet mine.
I'll eventually snap into pieces
When I'm no longer holding back -
I need you to come back to me.

I held you in my arms when you left me,
And heard utter an "I love you,"
Before you closed your eyes.