Lover you asked me,
"How.... how much do you love me?"
Well, I would give every breath left in my body, just to make you happy
Self sacrifice
That's how much I love you

She       fell
She       crashed
She       broke
She       cried
She       crawled
She       hurt
She       surrendered

And then...
           She rose again....

            - Anonymous

he wants to hear my compositions
and i don't know what to say.
they're all about him.
about the wounds that he's cut deep into my skin, past my veins, past my bones,
and i can't show that to him. i just can't.

he loves to hear me play,
he says i play like an angel.
that my fingertips float across the keyboard.
and i want to play for him
but i can't, because he sees right through me
in a way that no one else does,
and i can't have that.

how
can i take the only way of properly expressing myself
an expose it?? just like that? it makes no sense.
i would do it for him, hell, i'd do anything for him.
but not now, not here, not when they're all about him.

If, one day, I see you crossing
The street, I won’t wave,
I’ll let you be.

More beautiful now
Than you’ve ever been,
A couple butterflies
May come fluttering up
Out of my mouth,
And my heart may skip a beat,
But if I see you,
I’ll look down at once
And stare at my feet.

When he catches you in his warm embrace
And plants a sweet kiss on your face,
I’ll clutch my newspaper close
To my chest, and hold back a tear,
But I swear, you’ll still be as beautiful
As you’ve ever been,
And I won’t love anyone
The same way again.

When he takes your hand
And you turn to walk away,
I’ll feel that same deep burn in my chest,
That I’ve always felt,
That will never change,
Even when you turn around
And look at me so strange,
Like the visage of a dream
From some long-forgotten place.

But honey, when you furrow that soft brow,
And turn away quickly,
I’ll remember those days
When I caused you so much pain
That you counted the seconds on the clock
Hoping all that time would just tick away.

And the shameful memory
Will haunt me,
even as I turn to walk away from you
And you turn back to him, to walk away from me,
Going down two different streets.

his eyes are something different that i can't explain
they're a colour that i can't describe
and i want to be soaked in that colour, to glow in it
because i can't spell it out, i just want to feel it

and there have been many times now
that he's looked at me and i've thought
"why the hell have i not said something?"
but then backed away. i can't do it.

Expose the culprits that hide behind the stars to perpetrate their evil
No child should be abused
Every child deserves the best

I can never find the right words
when wanting to write about you.

My thoughts become your cluttered desk.
My mind, searches,
but cannot find its way over your
plastic paper protectors.
Because you insisted that everything more fragile than skin deserves
a little extra attention.

When wanting to write about you,
my brain becomes dog-eared.

By every play, every novel, and every anthology still on your shelf.
Waiting for your hungry eyes
to return to the adventure.
You have yet to turn the page.

Shakespeare couldn't've prepared anyone
for the hurricane hearts you left behind.

There is no monologue
that can fill a pair of lungs with air,
no poem that can breath for the breathless.

I am a natural disaster trying to write
about the sun.

My head is trying to put words
to the fire you left behind.

I know now,
that California's forests are
nothing compared to an empty stage.
Your flames branded
everything you touched
With the sound of your smile...

For a while,
I wanted nothing more
than to look into your oceanic eyes
one last time.

Then I remembered, that I do,
everyday.

When I walk through that door at 7 a.m.
groaning.
coffee in hand,
ideas for poems in my head.

You are not a sonnet, or a clear sky.
You are not a tomb.

You are
the cow as white as milk,
the cape as red as blood,
the hair as yellow as corn,
and the slipper as pure as gold.

Most importantly,
you are a classroom full of wide-eyed children.
Ready for their lesson in advanced theatre.
Well, not ready, but we'll get there,
with speed and purpose.

At first, it was because she wasn't what she wanted,
Because she wasn't what anyone wanted;

Small, red, welts lined her forearm

Then, that horrible beast came to claim her,
It started to cause her pain, so more came with it;

Long, skinny, scanned lines across her ribs

Then the first person to be allowed into her mind, her sanctuary, saw them,
And was disgusted, because he would never understand

Time passed, and they grew in depth and size, along with the beast,
Then he broke her

The girl who finally thought she was good enough, wasn't
And he took refuge in her best friend, and ruined her in the process

And that bottle in the cabinet started to look so inviting, that she partook,
But after the first taste of drunken release at the party full of cliche and angst,
The last part of her was taken unwillingly

She hid it along with her liquor filled breath,
Then it happened again, and oh how the beast and his marks grew;

Deep, ****** slashes along her untouched thighs

Alcohol was her only comfort, that bottle loved her more than anyone ever could,
For she claimed it was okay, was consensual, denial is a hell of a drug, and she was overdosing on it

Then another came and tried to put her back together,
And the glue he used was as strong as that feeling of first love between the two

But the monster had pulled her down to his home,
That deep unforgiving trench in your mind, that most never escape;

Short, organized, well hidden under her sleeves on her forearms

The glue started to lose it's bond,
Yet again she was left for another;

Long, deep, dripping, slices aligned perfectly down her forearm

Oh how she wanted to drift away, into the sweet arms of the reaper,
But she was unsuccessful,

A year later and they keep getting worse,
Gradually, the beast returns with deeper wounds;

She's building up the courage for the final round with that beast;

Long, overflowing, crimson gashes flow down her arm
Never to be sewn shut