You could win my heart with peanut butter
or with passion for the never ending quest
of finding the perfect running shoes.

You could win my heart with literature jokes
with Kishi Bashi, Bach, or Bocelli
and if you play with me, I'm yours.

You could win my heart with affection
honesty, cleverness, and candidness,
I'm addicted to non-corporeal human evolution.

But I'd rather you didn't.
Not yet.

Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're *'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.

i want saturday mornings to always smell like
black coffee and your cologne

i want to wake up before the sun rises
and walk around in wool socks, sing elvis presley
under my breath because i'll never admit it
but when i fell for you it was relentlessly and without
inhibition and
                          i just
                                     could not
                                                   help myself

i want to carry two mugs back to bed instead of just
one and i want to be there when you wake up
slowly

forgetting you (us)
is like trying
to bury a legend

You could've copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have mattered.
Just those beautiful scripted letters
on a page in my hands.

The ink bled through just enough
to saturate the corners of the cursive.
It's all curves and valleys.
A font I could only lust after.

It had soul.
Almost like the very words you wrote
were in direct allusion to the gods;
Like all the connected alphabet fell to the ground
and on it's knees, worshipped you.

I wanted to read everything you took note of
Even, on occasion, your grocery lists.
But then, You could have copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have made any difference at all.

i think bodies are just vessels for soul
they are not who we are, they are not the definition of us
they’re just storage until we pass on to that place that is neither great nor terrible nor recognizable or nameable in the slightest
not a heaven or hell
a feeling in the direction we touch as up
nothing there
nothing we have words to describe
it’s a just