Stills,
taken through a looking glass,
show that we're in love.
But not even photography and film,
not a single art form in the world,
can capture the blue of your eyes, or
that booming laugh,
or the bleeding of my heart.

Joy and sorrow,
******, fighting to meet air,
fighting to leave permanent scars everywhere
that read over and over again,
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..."

These words will never be enough
for a universe that's always expanding,
threatening to break through skin and make you mine.

Our bodies brighter,
We belong here together.
Like stars colliding,
a brand new shock of conscience.

Apollo's just confessed,
he's in love with a mortal
whose heart beats too quickly to steal.

Artemis sheds her furs and proclaims to the wolves,
"I am not a goddess,"
for she feels the gossamer of affection weighing down on her throat.

A mortal crawls on split hands and knees,
torn between the sun and the moon.
She is plucked from the ruins to be spread across the sky.

At last, she rests between them, not in love, but afraid.
The only untouchable presence, a mortal,
can neither feast upon the epic beasts, nor hear the music play.

Though the sunlight brings new beginnings,
their flickering fingers cannot reach.
As long as it's a competition, their love for her will never wane.

When you're falling short and solemn,
when your head falls to your chest,
and your chest to your knees.
Mother kisses your forehead as she lifts it up,
she hugs you tightly as she pulls you up.

Fiercely, do I love you
and the way your lips shook with anger,
but never hatred.
I loved you screaming, "*******!"
when we fought in the isolated private plane.

With vigor, how I love you
and the way your voice goes soft when you say my name.
I never mastered being gentle
like your fingers on my cheek.
I hug too hard because I am always afraid,
but you still hold me like I am about to break.

Incredibly so, will I love you
when the rest is abandoned and grey.
Everything you'll ever do, every word you'll ever say.
three words cannot explain every way
*I love you.

I'm stronger for saying goodbye.
I'm braver for holding her hand even if it felt like fire.

I'm smarter for letting you scream,
for scraping my tongue clean of your words,
for burning my face with red hot tears instead of burning out my throat.

I'm better for peeling off the scabs and calling my mother right afterward.
I'm better for throwing away the scraps.
I'm better for clenching only with empty fists and torn nails.
I'm better than this.

It’s been almost a year since I cursed your name to the heavens and praised your tongue to hell.
It’s been almost a week and I still can’t admit that I was in
full control when I swung out against the wall
to feel my knuckles break;
the skin uncurling the same as the chipped paint;
my blood mixing in cherry red.

I’ve been learning that hearts don’t break like fingers;
I still jump at the sound of doors slamming;
Your words piece together in my poems.
My shuddering ribs quake with every desperate scream.
I feel out-of-body sometimes.
It was cruel; and I hate you,
but my heart still beats too hard
and my fist is bandaged.

Bruises blossom like fingerprints.
Goosebumps brush over me like open-mouthed kisses.

The stars knew all, you swore to me;
and like a child
you watched with widened eyes and flushed cheeks.
Wished on a comet for eternity.
We argued about immortality
As I would get lonely,
but you longed for silent solitude.
If we were never meant to be,
You still believed.

It still hurts,
but god,
do I love you
like the sky opening up in anguish
to torrent upon the scarred land; to flood the paradise Eden;
All of the promises bleeding out
from between my crossed fingers.

It seems now that I've discovered things here
on HP,
I've stopped writing for myself
and started writing for likes.

My friend is dying,
I can hear it in her voice-
and the way her smiles don't wrinkle near her eyes anymore;
She knows it, too.
My friend is dying,
falling off the course.

If I had the words, I'd write her a song;
If I had the voice, I'd sing it all day long
to her,
but I don't.
No one ever taught me what to do in event of a teetering life,
on the brink of illness but not quite.

I've been busy lately,
untangling my heart strings and tying them into fancy knots
to hold my passions,
and anchor me down.

Tonight I leave the light on
when I go to sleep
because I pretend I'm not the only one awake in this house.

Brother strums his guitar in the other room
when night falls over Hometown Oblivion.
Father slams the door and tells Mother to keep busy
in case her flock has run away during the day.

Sister is sleeping peacefully beside me,
and though I wish I could do the same,
I know it's better off for both of us this way.

I lie awake,
bittersweet memories of my ex-friends and long-lost comrades
keep me company.
Hold my pen, just in case,
my flock visits someone else tonight,
like always.

Warm tears spill onto the pages.
I might as well give up at this point;
can't stop thinking about you, can't stop holding fast to my breathing.
I wish to die in my sleep
because it's driving me insane;
Clutch the crucifix in hopes all this time I've just made a mistake.

If you can hear this unwarranted plea,
listen to me crying and undo.
All the things that I would've done
if I still had you.

Please come and save me.

"You poor, poor thing,"
signs whisper to me as we pass by.
They know that I can't escape;
this new aching in my heart that wasn't there before
is only the growing pains of getting old.

But only love can hurt like this.
My heart is expanding to endless limits.
I love you even when I don't,
you're filling up the spaces between my bones.

Now my head is the only thing still my own.
I know you'd break my nose to break in,
bruise my heart only to mend it again.
I'd do the same but I'm already patched with bits of you and I'm losing control.

All the lies are growing vines,
wrapping around everything that they can find.
Twisted thoughts become tangled pleas.
I hope for you to rescue me
from all the dark places
that inflate with the space
between you and me,
between love and misery.

Time is a broken clock.
Singing endlessly, "When will the music stop?"
The verses blur into Answer me!'s
but I cannot speak.
I dread coming to,
though I'd much rather be with you,
the questions, like flowers, are pressing
So for him I'm *******.
The whispers, they threaten.
I'm no longer in your possession.
Forgive me.

You and I are the ones who have too many secrets to keep,
so we share the weight and share the stories.
We sit with our fingers and hearts crossed,
wishing for a tornado
because we both find something oddly comforting about power-outages,
something undeniably enticing about city ruins.
I can smell the storm coming,
there is blood in the air.
Let this be the end of me and you.

She's more than beautiful:
mysterious, ****, sweet, charming...
She's everything you could ever imagine
and more than that, too.

Every eye is on her when she enters the room.
She breathes out fire,
fills your lungs with burning desire;
Scorching flames you better hold behind clenched teeth.

No one says a thing about her;
She could hang their name with just one comeback.
If that doesn't work,
she's got a poisonous glare and a collection of brass-knuckle promise rings.
"The bruises really bring out the blue in your eyes,"
but only if you aren't playing nice.

No one can keep their heart beating right;
She takes your breath away, no matter who you are.
To see her vulnerable,
what a rare sight to behold.
Keep your fantasies under control.
If you try to rescue her, she'll never forget, always regret you.

Now the pain in her black eyes,
the sway in her hips as she walks away,
don't make me the same kind of weak anymore.
Nothing is worse than being blessed by the angel that I wrecked.
Please just take my advice.

A dream come true
haunts me in my nightmares.
So save your dreams of her
for sleeping at night.

I am sorry that I am trying so hard to fit in.
I know that I am not good publicity.

Paint the heads of your collection on the ceiling,
An assortment of faces that you miss, all showing the same feeling:
hatred.
You tell me, "No one will ever remember me,"
but you're wrong.

I collect, too, writing and rewriting all the hearts that I once knew.
Letters to their owners, punching old memories until my knuckles bruise black & blue
Misery.
I say, "No one will ever remember me,"
and I'm right.

I saw a girl made of nothing
in the reflection of the sea.
No form but her dark eyes,
staring back at me wide with curiosity.

The sky was her canvas,
the stars were her freckles.
Her blood ran in the sunset,
Rain fell like her tears.

Though she was a beauty,
she had no story to tell.
Because God is a silent gift,
subject to the tortures of being heaven far too close to hell.

I thought you were a diamond,
but it was just the lighting.
You are nothing but shards of broken glass.

I can't count the people I love on all of my bones,
there are too many fresh heart-breakers to intentionally leave out.
But I sure as hell love more plastic than I do gold.

When will I find someone as solid as a stone on a ring?
Rare gems are buried deep
and worth more than I could dare to keep.

Looks can be deceiving.
Too many golden people fall in love with sparkling trash
and no one cares as long as they are fooled.

The more I give away my fragile limestone heart,
the more it degrades under the watery admiration of cave tourists.

I sound like a *****,
and depending on who you ask, I probably am one.
But I deserve a love made of palladium, gold, silver, lapis,
something strong enough to withstand time
and sins of the miners that depend on my forgiveness.

The silence after a heavy breath is beautiful.
A kind of beautiful that you could get used to.
It's the perfect amount of absence
to make just enough room for serenity to enter your mostly-empty household.

The silence that follows a scream is tense.
What will happen next?
You will miss it if you are not listening carefully,
but if you do notice it, fear is a strange feeling to observe from a distance.

The silence that occurs just as a drunken friend falls asleep in your lap is oddly comforting.
Their eyes close slowly, and their head falls back,
and it is pleasant to hold them and know that they are safe with you.
It is accomplishing to know you are trusted with good reason.

The silence of realization is incredible to witness.
If you are lucky, you'll never have to bear it more than once.
How all the cars and their passengers pause just before the sirens start,
when a girl falls from her windowsill and into the darkened city streets.

Oh, Soul
Where did you go?
I've searched for you everywhere
in good luck tokens.
I've been hoping to find you hidden in a patch of four-leaf clovers
or with the loose change beneath the couch.

I dream of being part of a world
that exists for only always-pretty girls
and their stencil-cutout smiles.

I long for a manic pixie dream life
like the movie adaption of a John Green novel.
Summer road trips and contagious laughter
the sky always a picturesque lavender at sunset.

That world doesn't exist
and I hate myself for wanting it.
I am just a lonely daring teen girl.

But even on those lovely Californian nights,
a manic pixie dream girl that has no movie for a life
cries
tears of naivety.