She wasn't storybook pretty
She wasn't even the plain kind of pretty
No mary sue or timid thing
She was weepy phonecalls at 3am
And smashing plates in kitchen sinks
She was thunder and lightning
Bright and burning
And you couldn't catch her if you tried
She was destruction and it was not
Beautiful, but it was enchanting
The type of girl who stole breaths
Simply for the enjoyment of watching
Us mere things gasping for air
She was a galeforce wind in winter
You couldn't look away,
And she couldn't stay
Even if she wanted to.

I think the worst of it
Is that you.. forget
Who you were before
Memories slip away
And feelings
Until you're left with this
Vague sense, this innate
Understanding
That you used to be more
You used to be something
With more substance
Than this *ghost

Glass wasn't made to shatter;
Paper wasn't made to tear.
Fragmentation is a side effect of carelessness, not of life–
Not of love.
A rose is not meant to be crushed, pulled apart petal by petal, simply because it is soft.
The doe, graceful and wide-eyed, was not created to die at the hands of a man indistinguishable from a snake in the grass.
The monarch does not flutter with lithe wings to be caught, classified, and pinned to a page,
Nor do the leaves change hue, turn crisp, and fall to be crushed beneath an entitled foot.
I do not paint my eyes so that you can watch me bleed black and gold down my cheeks,
Nor do I wear my heart on my sleeve so that you can rip it apart valve by valve.
I am not your window pane, nor your blank page; your willow tree, nor your frozen stream.
I am the rabbit sleeping deep in her borough; I am the bluebird flitting between trees.
I may be fragile, but that doesn't give you permission to break me.

The smell of cigarettes permanently stains your hair and fingers only masked by the fading scent of some too girly lotion made for girls who spend their time worrying about their looks and what the other *** thinks about them rather than living. The smell of secondhand smoke lingers around like the memory of bad fathers and horrible past lovers. Maybe that's the reason why you smoke. Maybe you are trying to burn away the feelings and love because his feelings went away as quickly as that stick of tobacco on fire does.

True love is not getting her
A gift for everyone to see
Rather it's behind closed doors
Where your devotion is proven
When she can't sleep
And you talk her through the night
When you fall ill to some disease
And she stays by your side,
Watching your favorite shows with you

True love is not bringing your "arm candy" with you to show off
If your love her, then you love the way
She looks all the time, even when she
First wakes up, her face rid if products
If you love him, you won't read his texts, for isn't trust the cornerstone in the structure of the life you are building together?

If you love each other,
You will accept your flaws and those
Of your beloved, and cherish each other through for who you are,
Who you've been, and who
You will become