I almost thought to close my eyes
And rest my head before I’d have to start another day without you.

But you, the Flower Queen who embodied all of the poetry I was struggling with,
You took my mind as you always have.

You wrote about missing me
And the song that is only shared by us.

It still tears me up...
I’m still blessed to ever have found you.

I always wonder how you’re living,
If your life has gotten better without me,
If you’ve prayed that I’d get better,
Or if you’ve hoped that we’d talk again.

I miss you terribly.
I’m sending you all of my good thoughts,
And I hope that you’ll get them
And know that I’m sorry
For not holding our bond more carefully.

We got so familiar...

And now,
I only wish we could again.

All I do

Is sit in my room

And feel sorry for myself.

It feels like so long

Since the day we met,

And now all I do is wait.

I’m not ashamed to admit

I’m withering.

I’ve been carving your initials

Into my eyes

The exact same way

I try to carve sanity

Out of the thoughts
That I’ve been dissecting

In this conceited attempt

At poetry.

Such a sad condition

To admit that I’m broken…

And worse,

Still,

Impatient.

Millions of brave women take to the streets
To defy the government's tendencies,
The head of the serpent the main oppressor
Set to be severed by those who bring life into the world
Suffering for the other half of humanity,
As they think freely,
Create art,
Dream in philosophy
And sit lonely in scarlet clouds of disdain for the political system ripping out their hearts.

What better time to admire the rapid bloom of countless species of flowers I cannot match a name to...

And a few that I can,

But the same land which facilitates our growth has sectioned each plot to keep me away from the plants to which I'd harm.

There's no melody behind parasitism and this pollen isn't treating any of us well anyway,

Yet beauty is so timeless,
So radiant—
Too many questions for the roots that hold you steady.

You said my art was verse,
But I knew my art was you,
It was simple, it didn't rhyme,

It didn't need to.

I spill out my thoughts every night...
I do it to chronicle everything we say to each other,
The tiny interactions that are thawing my heart that I'd rather not forget.

You see, my brain isn't made like yours,
And there are gaps in my past.

Like Michelangelo did carve his marble or Rodin did shape his mass of bronze, I shape my words so I cannot forget these steps that I take,

One by one with you.

I interpreted Rembrandt as Sadness.
I interpreted van Gogh as Suffering.
I interpreted Titian without Sincerity.
I interpret you simply as Love.

You are art, you do not know.

I don't remember all the paintings I've seen,
And if you are to fade along with them, I'd prefer to fade as well.

I talk a lot,
And a lot of it sounds
Like I have you in a stranglehold.

I can't hold up the facade tonight.

I must admit,
I cannot bear you tonight.

I don't want a memory
Of anything you ever did
Positive, negative
Or in the limbo in between.

Love is all I had for you,
Even when I saw the cracks
Forming in your armor
And I knew you could not love me.

I knew you were finished,
And tonight, it's all I know.

I should have never said a word to you.

You were a calculated surgeon
Who paid no mind to anesthesia.

Your hands were in the fire too.

We both knew we were hundreds
And hundreds of miles from each other...

But I was willing to run the gauntlet.

I wanted to bear the burden of time
With you alone,
And you said it was of no importance
Any longer.

How dare you.

How dare you lie to me
For this span of a hundred days,
And trade books under the sunlight
Because you knew they were safe
In the possession of the one you held dear...

You could turn the most caring man
Into Savonarola.

Youth is a good excuse
For all these decisions
I keep making.

Apparently,
Rumor has it,
There's a signed permission slip
On the inside of my desk
That's kept there for consent.

You can hardly claim
To know what you want
When you're this early
In your life.

They always said
I take my waking slow
And I'm really
Hibernating on this one.

Big dilemmas...
Ringing church bells,
And the weddings
I thought would be accompanied
By cards
With my name on the inside.

I don't want these
To be the things
I destroyed in my youth.

So let's get drunk on the fact
That we have this golden chance
To ***** up and start all over.

Let's all get drunk
On the beauty of youth.