We were a walking cliche,
unoriginal straight from the desires of beauty
to evolve into prosperity
that was doomed from the start.

I went from this awkward mystery,
to a playful, loving,spontaneous boy
that just so happened to say things that at the moment
sounded beautiful,
but beauty isn't always a dull blade and it can
still cut for years on end.

It started with the first letter.
written on a Walgreens card,
and it soon turned to Eskimo kisses, and we'd cuddle,
until it was too hot and sweaty,
and I would write notes, and underline in my favorite novels,
then I'd give them to her to read.
I was never comfortable enough
to eat in front of her because the butterflies
she gave me, filled my stomach.
And when she kissed me,
it often felt like her lips ****** the air out of my lungs,
or punched me in the rib cage, and
I couldn't tell the difference because both would leave me breathless
and in pain.
I'd talk to her in different voices, like
Batman or Count Dracula,
and I'd tickle her and then we'd play fight,
and it was so cliche but I loved it,
and I told myself from the start not to get attached to her,
and I didn't for the longest time,
until one day she looked at me and I knew I had ****** up and
I couldn't just detach myself because sewing yourself
to someone isn't that simple.

****, that was long and unnecessary.

The moral of the story  is,
it was all cliche which made it that much easier
to fall for.

“I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes;
on my face they are
still together.”

-Warsan Shire

Calories.
When I was 6 years old,
my mother told me I would consume
too many calories.
I would consume them by the hundreds,
by the thousands.
I was Godzilla and they were the people I dominated.
When my parents left one another
I had to fill myself with some other source of affection.
And the insulin rushes were tremendous.
When I was 11,
I had to see the doctor to be in fear of getting Diabetes,
and being grossly overweight.
At at age of 15, I was over 280 pounds
of walking disappointments.
I had always believed my stomach carried my happiness
and the fat under my chin kept my head high.
But after being rejected for so long,
I snapped.
I always had an attachment to food,
a sort of inseperable bond.
But I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night,
completely disgusted, tears welling in my eyes,
and I puked from the anger I felt inside of me.
So don't tell me the calories I consume today
don't burn more
than the bleach Amanda Todd drank,
or that the more hollow my stomach becomes,
I am not able to better hide my sorrows.
Do not dare tell me eat something,
because I've craved biting the bullet for the past 8
******* years, and carbohydrates
has caused more sadness in my heart than anything else.

Do not tell me other teenagers do not cut open their arms,
to let calories out,
because they are scared to Christ that someone may judge them,
if they eat an apple.
Because the first woman that ate an apple, ****** humankind.
And by having a sip of your Iced Tea,
or a french fry, might just dissolve the earth from beneath us.
Why we hide from nutrition labels,
and run from anything with a number greater than
ZERO
on it.

I was taught that happiness comes from a nutrition label,
and how many servings one consumes,
not the smile on ones face,
or the good in one's heart.

Calories have ruined my life,
and I will never forgive any nutrition label for that.

You promised to kiss me at
each stop light we encountered.
Each one.
With each daring red light
we stumbled upon,
you promised to lock lips,
and steal the stumbling words
off of my tongue.
But dear, the drugs I've been taking
has stolen the red lights we came across
for it's kept me up for nights on end,
and stolen my sanity
like an alley robbery,
and theses voices that followed
the influx of serotonin
left me depleted and void
because all I want now
is to come across a red stoplight.
I need a second to breathe,
with the walls closing ,
I'm searching for a door which might as well be the pack of pills
or the touch of your lips
but darling I am a roadrunner and I haven't stopped since
my mother recommended I went for a run,
and my heart weighs me down , and the thoughts cause me to drop
my chin in the face of my father
because when you kissed me the first time,
it hurt more then anything I've ever experienced.

When it comes to negativity,
I never believed it was possible to stop,
so I kept going.

I swear ,
I have never meant to hurt you,
But my hands are knives
Unsheathed
And I swear it was
Never my intention
To leave you
But my feet started moving
Before my mouth
Could speak up
Because my voice box
Can’t stand up for itself
Because it’s a paraplegic
And shoelaces tied
Or not,
I will still fall every time I look into your eyes.
Jesus Christ,
My knees buckle more then my belt collection,
And my hands shake more then maracas.
Because when I said you were everything I had,
I sold everything for you.

I can not help but cringe from your touch,
But who am I to blame?
For after stomping on my assertion,
And spitting on my self esteem,
You left.
Like a whisper in the wind,
And my heart breaks my ribs
With every gentle breeze,
Expecting your return.

Fingers like scraped nails bore into my skin,
and while in a breathless attempt to rebut,
I found myself diving into a helpless hole
of madness that revolved around your touch.

While it burned and scraped for the futures promises,
the sweet sizzle and scratching left me craving more,
and I've never really liked long hugs and find myself
attracted to long stares,
because the intensity revolves like a tornado,
and the world is paused,
and Christ you have the most beautiful eyes I have yet to see.

I hate getting sappy, but
I'd love to be your tree.
But with no grounded roots,
and wicked wrangly branches
the stability is unknowingly nowhere to be found.

Sadness is worst than cancer,
for it metastasizes more rapidly than anything
imaginable,
so we must be in Wonderland,
where forever may be simply a second
and each forever fills you up more and more
with the cancer that threatens the life of every burden,
or mistake,
or habit, or anything that in the end is bad for you.

But stand as you are, for comparing you to something is rather
disrespectful
for beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
and I'd rather be blind than not see you once more.

You are my metaphor and my easiest comparison to abstraction.

I miss the nights,
shoulders hunched over the soulless luminescence of a screen,
eager for the tapping of buttons
to proudly displays
imperfect works of art.

For writers are not naysayers,
nor speakers of the truth,
not speakers for the people,
or those that govern the people,
we are individualistic shortcomings ,
aspiring to be wore more than a few syllables,
or a clever punch line.

We are the lonely,
the distraught,
the happy and sad,
we are the people,
for in each of us is a writer,
dying to aspire to more than a few words.

We demand recognition.

We crave love.

But we receive neither,
for here we are at late hours
of the empty dark night,
hunched over the luminescence of a soulless keyboard,
eager to **** the expectations
of anyone aspiring to be more than a few words.

I swear,
if you take me for my faults,
etch yours into my flesh and I will wear them proudly,
for I am yours,
even if you are not mine.

Carve your name into my lungs,
so they may expand to display the beauty  of your name,
and in an effort to show the world,
they will bruise my rib cage,
and you may take each of them and throw them away,
for you are my eve;
I could not wish for anyone else.

When I was at the ripe age of 7 years old,
I grew accustomed to sleeping cold.
The feeling of numbness and it's pins.
I learned my hatred was rather intrinsic.

Don't bother fixing me, it's rather pointless,
A pencil with no point, a coin pouch coinless,
Just don't leave for I may just break,
And I'm rather terrified of the oceans wake,
with the raging sea and chomping sharks,
our power outages with lines aspark.

I've grown rather cold like winter nights,
Feverish children surviving for the fight.

It is 6:48 P.M.,
and I am absolutely sure of 3 things.
1. It is 6:48 P.M.
2. The ocean is salty,
and 3. You are the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.*

You asked when I got off work.

So hours later, I found myself,
cuddled in close to a girl I haven't even known for 48 hours,
but felt as if I had known her a lifetime.

The movie was terrible,
like brussel sprouts to a toddler.
But the smell of your skin,
and the warmth of your fingers made me feel
like we were in some cheesy chick flick watching a horrible movie.
We probably were.

I told you I had a secret to tell you,
but instead I kissed you.
And you asked to hear more secrets.

I held your hand tighter then a grenade,
I kissed you harder then I've ever dragged a cigarette.
Your eyes, I swear they melt me.

I've fallen in love with the way you move.
The way you speak,
the way you breathe.
It beautiful in every aspect of the word,
and I'm a little impulsive and have trouble gathering my thoughts together,
and I know I shouldn't do such horrid things,
but they keep me sane,
or at least my belief of sane.
You terrify me with the way you stare at me, and make me feel like I'm worthwhile.
But I'm no different then the horrible movie we watched on a late December night.

You told me you never wanted to go further then just 'company'.
But you claim we were a couple in your head.
And now since I lost my footing when you knocked it out from under me,
I can't seem to stand back up.
So come and join me, because darling,
I've got a countless amount of secrets to tell you.

"You're so much more to me than you may think."

It caused that pit,
in between my rib cage,
to split, and pour out reasons why I'm a mistake,

You classified our argument as a falling out,
but in fact I began to fall for you,
and the pavement of your harsh reality,
broke my fall,
and crushed every bone in my body.

So how can anybody expect me to be preoccupied
with the idea of evolution,
when all I wanted was to evolve
into something worth keeping around.

Your eyes devastate me.
They split my veins,
and burn my trachea with all the bitter regrets I hold to myself concerning you.

I wish I could talk to you straight,
but you and I,
we're more alike than I'd prefer to believe.

We both hide behind metaphors,
sarcastic personas.
witty comebacks,
sly sayings,
and smiles that mask our true feelings.

Crunch my toes in an effort to rise to my lips,
steal my breath, and
grasp my waist to keep me from falling.

When you said you could never go anywhere with me emotionally,
it broke me.
That tiny piece of myself I had left,
that sliver of sanity that held onto the idea
that you would stand by my side,
unlike my regretful family,
disregarding family,
and ashamed shadow.

You left as I tripped on my self esteem and pride,
in an attempt to hold your hand in public.

For Christ's sake,
your  lips are the sweetest thing I've tasted,
and I've never enjoyed kissing,
because it's sloppy,
and pointless,
but with you,
your lips are medication that keeps my heart beating.

You were my sunrise,
and sunset,
and I'm sorry if that's corny,
but my harvest clock revolved around you.

I'm sorry I wasn't enough.
Just please ,
please,
Tell me the truth behind your egotistical walls that you bare up in an effort to keep the daring out.

In the 6th grade,
I read a book about a man who climbed Mount Everest,
and I've been dangerously daring ever since.

Let me in,
and kiss me as if you never wanted anything more.

I guess I'm not enough.

Standing at a towerous 6 foot one
I bared the strength of my ancestors.

Tell me how I sweat determination,
Bleed desire
and dream of Success.

I've isolated myself from distractions,
lust, and the sins of this
dredging world.

I bear the weight of the universe,
upon my shoulders,
back strict, and
knees taut.

Yet when I find myself staring into your eyes,
they buckle,
and my throats tightens.

I find myself,
staggering.

These hands ache and cry for your touch.
Nostrils repressed, because I've never smelt
Anything as sweet as you.
I can not taste the food I do not wish to eat,
For it is nothing to your lips.

I hear this dull echo in the pit of my ribs,
Where my heart used to be.
It's gone now,
After you tore it out with your first hello,
Squeezed it with our first kiss,
Soothed it after its over dose,
And crushed with your good bye.

I thought of you when I woke up,
And when I went to bed;
Before and after I brushed my teeth;
Whenever I moved, I thought of you.

That terrified me more then anything I've ever known.

The fact I had become so infatuated with the way you spoke,
Sang, Smelt, Dressed, Drew, Wrote, Laughed, Breathed, Lived, Ate, Smiled, Frowned, Sighed, Twisted, Turned, Loved,
And I know there are millions more of verbs to list
that I had become so infatuated with when it came to you,
but just the warmth that comes from hearing your name is enough to melt the glaciers.

I didn't love you,
But I knew in time I would have.

When I was 9 years old,
I witnessed a girl with rivers of crimson,
Seeping from her arms.
She had a blood stained sheet,
Tightened around her neck,
As I heard her bloodcurdling screams,
She locked eyes with me.

I felt her eyes.
Dark and cold, and no emotion behind them.

And when I stared in the mirror at 4:38 in the morning.
I felt the same thing.

It has never left me as it has infused into my cells,
And has branded every thought,
Every sense.

I am unsure to be afraid or comforted.

Someone previously described me as damaged,
not broken,
but I have pieces scattered everywhere,
I have carved reasons why I am useless,
I have swallowed for solutions.

I've never felt so alone.
At least I know I am damaged and not broken, right?

Dear Darling, I have been haunted too many nights
By the cries and screams of those
That closely resemble myself.
Their pitch pulls at my fibers,
Slices my arteries, and beats on my ear drums.
I wake up in a cold sweat, with the fear of God in me every night.

Dear Darling,
These scars are leakage of my fears.
My blood is poisoned with the idea of regret.
Sadness encompasses and clouds my thoughts,
Creating a pessimistic view on positive situations.
Numbness pains my core, and spreads through my veins
As a cold slush.

Dear Darling,
I have not slept a full night’s sleep in over 8 years.
I am not scared of no beast,
Nor animal,
Nor man.

Dear Darling,
These monsters inhabit my mind,
and plagues my eyes with sights ungodly even for the wicked.
They close my throat,
And guide the blade to my arms.

Dear Darling,
They have stolen my sanity,
And I am in fear of what they may soon accomplish.
I don’t remember how these scars have gotten here,
But they cause my hands to shake,
and my knees to collapse
as I guide my finger tips over the scars.

Dear Darling,
Save me.