I still write you
As a part of everything
A thousand characters
With the same heart in my mind
This heart of mine
Beats in time with yours
You'll be my everything
My ceilings and my floors
And my bed
Where I fall asleep to dream
You'll be my love
My understanding of god

Dearest Zelda
I could give my life
And it never could be as much
As you deserve
So I'll give you the next one
I'll give you all the stars I come from

I still dream you
I still am thankful
You found a way to save me
When nothing ever could
The beginning and the end
Of everything
I love you
I am you
And we are the rain
Born from our tears before
We fall together
Holding hands

Sweet Isabella
I keep on throwing parties
That I can't enjoy
Because you're not there
And one day I won't need wine to drink
One day I won't need drugs to get high

I may be great
Gatsby dies for Daisy
My soul can't be complete
If not for you
Its as though our broken pieces
Put together make a perfect whole

I hope you hear the hopes in my words
That they speak to you
I hope you feel the sorrow in my handwriting
That I'm not with you now

i don’t know how someone as small as me
with bones that break at the sight of heat lightning
and heart strings that thread apart at the sound of his voice
could make anyone feel like the sun shines brighter
through kaleidoscope eyes—
you’re okay if it brings out the freckles on your face,
and you feel good, you feel alive
you say i showed you how to love in a new way,
that i taught you to be so much more okay with your tummy,
“it’s been very freeing and life is a lot better, thank you,”
but i feel like i can’t say you’re welcome
because i am a messy cliché of imperfect scraps and hypocrisy
loosely sewn together with
“you are strong you are strong you are strong,”
but i feel so weak i feel so weak i feel so weak
and i am not steady hands, they shake like
wet dogs after kiddy pool baths,
i am flower seeds that forgot how to bloom,
trapped below the surface of a garden that feels like quicksand
and i’m sorry but you don’t see all the mistakes i make,
all the words i’ve preached that look back at me
and laugh when they see
what i feel, what i think, who i am behind closed doors,
i’m sorry.
you keep hanging medals around my neck, and
they’re so heavy, and i don’t know
what to say besides i love you
when you speak words of adoration,
but please do not praise me, i am not good.

I have given up on the days that fade together, with a hazy blur of smoke in my lungs. But maybe that is what you enjoy about me-
that I am not like most girls.
But I want you to care for me
I want you to ache for me.
I want to know I am the only person on your mind at three AM,
while the blinds are closed and you are wrapped in blankets to protect you;
I want to protect you from Her, and the memories that come flooding back when ever you kiss me. I want to protect you from the voices that tell you to end it all,
Because if one girl didn't love you like someone should- then no one will.
But you don't see that I care, and I miss you when I am in your arms and I miss you when we are apart.
But you don't see me as myself- you see me as Her.
You get scared when we hold hands because the nicks and cranny's around my finger tips are just like Her's.

I want to move on from the days, while we sit in the school parking lot with the  "Burn Outs", and we smoke until we can't think straight.
I want to move on from the days where we both feel like nicotine is the only way to feel slightly alive.

I want to move on to the days that are filled with laying in white sheets with you beside me.
I want to move onto the days where we sit on the dock and fish (even though we know we wont catch a single fish)
I want to move onto the days where it is just you and me.

But until then I will destroy my lungs with smoke until I feel the buzz of my mind fading and my vision blurring-
Because that hazy feeling is the only thing I know.

i want to dye
my hair and tattoo my skin
so that the changes
you’ve been noticing in me
look like they’re
on purpose.

I am slowly learning to disregard the insatiable desire to be special. I think it began, the soft piano ballad of epiphanic freedom that danced in my head, when you mentioned that “Van Gogh was her thing” while I stood there in my overall dress, admiring his sunflowers at the art museum. And then again on South Street, while we thumbed through old records and I picked up Morrissey and you mentioned her name like it was stuck in your teeth. Each time, I felt a paintbrush on my cheeks, covering my skin in grey and fading me into a quiet, concealed background that hummed “everything you’ve ever loved has been loved before, and everything you are has already been,” on an endless loop. It echoed in your wrists that I stared at, walking (home) in the middle of the street, and I felt like a ghost moving forward in an eternal line, waiting to haunt anyone who thought I was worth it. But no one keeps my name folded in their wallet. Only girls who are able to carve their names into paintings and vinyl live in pockets and dust bunnies and bathroom mirrors. And so be it, that I am grey and humming in the background. I am forgotten Sundays and chipped fingernail polish and borrowed sheets. I’m the song you’ll get stuck in your head, but it will remind you of someone else. I am 2 in the afternoon, I am the last day of winter, I am a face on the sidewalk that won’t show up in your dreams. And I am everywhere, and I am nothing at all.