It hurts to stay,
but it hurts to leave,
and on paper,
the words find me,
the words that maybe
could put a name to
whatever we are,
because it is not "just friends"

We poke each other
too much to be "just friends",
your bag held my jacket
too long to be "just friends",
your hands stroked my hair
two times more than "just friends"

And whenever you say
"It's okay,"
my mind listens
because at that moment
when a wish and love
are in a perfect paste,
my mind feels okay...

So tell me why now,
whenever I speak your name,
my tongue burns,
oh tell me
when will you learn
that people are not games,
that if you keep pressing
the reset button,
a person might just vanish away...

You make me feel
like the most beautiful flower,
because it's always me
you pluck from the dirt,
it's always you that
trims away all my hurt...

But in your hands, I die
I've died a million times,
And I can't find
a drop of you in this ocean,
am I swimming on my own?
We're both sailors at sea,
but you're steering
this ship terribly,
I do not ship the
situation we're in,

How can love be fun,
when we're both conflicted,
our words restricted,
over-addicted to overthinking,
overtwisting every little thing,
until I am not sure
if I love you,
and you're not sure
if you want me...

But take it easy,
it's not like I'm in despair,
break me;
force a scalpel into my heart,
there's nothing of my own
that I haven't repaired,

I'm caught between
wanting to strip you
of your breath, and
wanting to keep you alive,
even if it'd result in my death.

I am just a human,
and today, I am emotionless,
today there is no love
residing in my bones
is a gap

The gap between
love drunk and sober,
The gap between
I thought there was an us
and it's over,
The gap between
I love you and I hate you,

I want to remember,
now I want to forget,
now I regret all
the little moments I
wasted on you,
all the little moments I
could have used up
loving myself a little more,
doubting myself ,
killing myself a little less,
more time taken out
to untangle my messy head;

You will regret this,
there is a limit to
how much I yearn,
there is a limit to
how much I burn,
once I say goodbye,
I won't return, so
darling, I'd be concerned.

I am not a piece of cake,
I am a piece of war,
make up your mind;
I want to know if you
are worth fighting for.

Own the right razor blade,
and shave away our mental sanity,
so that we earn a piece of paper;
Now we are worthy.

Clutch my heart strings,
say you are willing to stay,
pluck away your shyness,
I'll discard my dramatic;
I guess right now,
the less time we're together,
the less we'll need to heal...
Then maybe when all this
turns into dust,
it won't sting as much.

We all have our secret hideaways, we all have our cures, and our bandage solutions, and we all have addictions.

You will eat to fill the hollow kindly provided by someone who's left you lying in bed at night, wondering why you weren't good enough, or maybe even just enough, to make them stay.

We all carry earbuds...more like soulbuds. Hello music, goodbye world, goodbye sorrow. We all break down, no matter how hard we hide it, no matter how well we can disguise it...eyes can't lie, but they sure can act.

And we all try to bandage our wounds, though we're the worst doctors. I puke smiles, you puke smiles, we ALL puke smiles...

but no one's meant them for a while.

it's a resounding voice in my head,
"be more. be more. be more. be more. be more. be more."
there's a fire in my heart and
i can never feel enough in my own skin.
the world feels bigger than ever
and i feel smaller in the four walls of my bedroom,
and i want to do more
see more
feel more
be more
but i don't know how to.

I remember everything— each space on the calendar crossed out in permanent marker but never forgotten.

I remember every before and after, every minute that has passed by my irises with the impatience of speeding cars on the interstate. I keep my hands permanently cupped so that memories cannot slip through the cracks in my fingers, tea spilling from my grandmother's cracked porcelain. Every heartbeat that has silently taken refuge under the rug, every breath I spent wondering what it would be like if I peeked out and saw the soles of the feet that have replaced the metronome of my steps.

I am building a life out of the sound of my own laughter echoing down walls painted by the artist of morning light. My heart is a kaleidoscope house with mirrors I peer into and find older versions of myself, silhouettes of smaller dreamers with eyes that could ignite the world with the gentle flutter of a blink.

I am dressed up as Tinkerbell for my first birthday, fairy green and sparkling. Pictures are taken, kisses on pink cheeks and soft feet. Growing up is not an option. Blink. I am 5 years old and missing my front teeth, crying lava on the bus ride to school as my mother’s familiar face shrinks through the frosted window. No matter how hard I squint, she is still just a dot on the sidewalk waiting for me to come home. Blink. I am eight years old and playing with Barbie dolls on my bedroom carpet, crayons scattered all over my bed and my imagination sprinting across the baby pink walls faster than I can keep up with it. Blink. Thirteen hurts a lot more than scraping knees on uneven sidewalks. My own tears begin to taste like the beginnings of a broken heart. Blink. Blink. Blink.

I am sixteen and in love. The kind that holds my breath hostage in its arms, the kind that knows my name like the lyric of a song memorized in past lives. My hopes remain suspended twenty thousand feet in the air, fearless and spontaneous. There are flowers growing wildly in the way that I love him, in the way I see myself waiting for a thousand years to have this forever. The taste of happiness has finally made its way into my morning coffee.

And as much as they wanted me to live in Neverland forever, I have finally found the door to where my heart lives. Every moment is a volume. Every day is a masterpiece hung intentionally on the wall for the world to see, for my own hungry eyes to catch a glimpse of now.

Blink. It is time.