i've metamorphosed from teenage girl
to doe-eyed teenage archetype.
blushing-scarlet ingenue.
a shameless shade of desperate.

enter long-haired sweetheart, stage left.
cooler than a vintage cassette.
fender guitars and a rockstar's charm.

guess you need a red-lipped groupie on your arm.

you looked straight at me. you saw me.
i'm not a lover, but i could be.
for all you know,
your hand might fit perfectly in mine.
(or, better still, between my thighs.)

i swore nobody would ever turn me into this
rephael Aug 22

They call it sin
Yet what is sinful about us?
My thoughts of thou
Making love to you
Is it unorthodox?
Is it anything but beautiful?

Riot Jul 2

i went on. i went on and never spoke to you about how cracked little by little till my insides seeped out.
the coffee shop knows my name, i've been there so many times everyone on every shift knows me personally and ask how are things. it seems everyone knows you too. i feel bad for putting them all in a terrible position, in between you and i; i've always lied & return home.  
my thoughts have shifted since i got the courage to think freely again. i sit in the bed and crash, hoping you'll return next to me. the spots you touched on my home knows yours. the corners of my mind ache hourly. all i see is you standing in my door frame with a smirk on your face that could break me in half just about now.
i suppose that's easier than just hollow.

oh god I can't sleep
Riot Aug 19

Warning, warning, red alert.

Warning, warning,
Breaking News:
This just in

A woman loves me.

Riot Aug 19

You're one of those girls,
the ones with the fire extingishers for mouths,
cooling me down,
until my words
aren't burning,
Just warm.

Love you know?
Riot Aug 19

I've imagined a romance plagued by jazz.

Ella sings in my head, as i
fall in love.

Billy tells me your secret wishes, as we
dance around a christmas tree that barely fit in my crappy apartment.

Louis sings you to sleep
Whenever I never got to say goodnight.

olivia g Aug 14

Her hair may smell like sweet summer rain and her smile always settles weirdly in your stomach, but she is poison. She is a toxic cocktail garnished with cigarette smoke that reminds you of the night you came too close to kissing her. She is unattainable, she is right beside you and yet your fingertips cannot ever quiver hard enough to close the gap between you and her.

You crave her so desperately. You would be humbled to fall apart for her. At her feet, you’d make your bed, and there you would stay all alone through the night, dreaming of how she swore she’d come back for you. There you will stay while the dawn filters in through the drapes, while the sharp rays of early morning light are all that is there for you to blame for your tears. She will not come back because boys will be boys, with their tousled hair and heavy brows and all of their hard edges, and she will love them for that. No matter how hard she bleeds before he gives way for her, she will melt into him.

She wears your sorrows like a dress gown. You tell her past the knot in your throat that she looks gorgeous. Your palms itch; it takes everything in you to not smooth down the ripples in the fabric around her hips. Her night skin’s being shed by calloused hands within her first hour out at the bar. And in a few hours’ time, she’s battling her hangover with her head in your lap while you comb through the mess of her hair and tell her that she still deserves better. She says she knows that already.

What she doesn’t know is that you do, too.

to any girl who's ever fallen for her straight best friend…you will find love, and she will be brilliance unlike you've ever seen before. xxx
Riot Aug 13

I'm broken. drunk
Entirely off of you.

Your breath,
mixed with Mine,

Against a world,
Who never wanted us here.

They wanted to destroy people like us

home is on the hill.
cerise sunsets
command the skies --
clouds succumb
to their will.

home is on the hill.
she'll run her fingers
through your hair;
you lay blissfully

home is on the hill.
a makeshift bed
of shamrock green:
recurring dreams

home is on the hill.
your demons take
a vacation...

home is on the hill.
her lips still taste
like cherryade,
and there's
still time to kill.

this is probably the first happy thing ive ever written
Joanna Rose Jul 21

You're not like the other girls I've loved
Your laugh is like the embodiment of summer
Warm weather and flowers blooming
Two girls with sun kissed skin and strawberry lips, that's us
Please don't ever go away my love
I don't think I could stand it if you did

I wrote this about the girl I'm currently dating
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