Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2014 Turquoise Mist
a h
i'm not trapped in this body
of mine
what i'm trapped in
is society's idea
of the way
my body should be
she fell in love
with old buildings
abandoned houses
windows busted out
missing doors and
peeling paint
places that seemed
haunted and lost
there was a sweet sadness
in overgrown yards
like part of the world was forgotten
it moved her
because she coul see
how beautiful they once were
how memories used to fill
all the hallways and rooms
rooms now boarded shut
falling apart
pieces, pieces everywhere
and she fell in love
with the way the sun hit
and she could almost feel
where life used to be there
she kinda thinks that people
are like those houses
sometimes there's no pain in goodbye
and maybe i love you is the sweetest lie
maybe hope is all we're left to hold
all that glitters isn't gold
sometimes we lose ourselves bit by bit
looking for something to make the pieces fit
and we don't wanna feel empty or alone
when words and memories cut to the bone
sometimes you know when enough is enough
and there's no shame in giving up
on anything that makes you blind
leads you astray, sets you behind
makes your soul hurt, your heart ache
but nothing in this life is a mistake
lessons, lessons, how they change
and life is wonderful, life is strange
even in the moments of struggle and grief
hold on fast to that belief
that you are always so much more
than you give yourself credit for
sometimes there's no pain in goodbye
and maybe i love you is the sweetest lie
but we're all fools
stumbling blindly
you could almost see
ink flowing through her veins
and how she spread her words
across her heart
waiting for someone to
read them
and she may have been
complicated
but she had such
simple needs
but no one took her
seriously
and she let things
hurt far more than they should
because she truly cared about
people. everyone. everything
because it felt right to her
and she had no idea
how to be anything else
because sometimes she
wished she could
but if you were to pick apart
all these little pieces
and how memories always stain
then maybe you could
see something
special there
Next page