If she could go back, she thinks --

She would open her eyes, instead of her heart.

Allow yourself to
let things go,
and to let things change.
Some things may not be
what you'd imagined them
a year ago
-and that's okay.

Hearts break
for different reasons
and they each heal
at their own pace.

You don't need
to have it all figured out
-a dozen he's will leave
and more she's will break your heart
than you planned.

But that's okay,
because when you feel
like you can't sink lower;
an unexpected breeze
will pick you up
and I promise
-You'll fly.

you're sleeping as i write this
dreaming gentle things
your bottom lip, pouting
the last thing i want to do is wake you -
and mess all of this up

i haven't told you that i love you
i'm sure that's what i feel, but the words
themselves
feel
meaningless

i love how you look when you're sleeping
i love your bed head -
straw-colored hair having a mind of its own
i love the gentle rise of your chest -
tempting me to come over and listen to your heart's voice
i love your big dumb feet sticking out from underneath the blanket -
probably deathly cold but still belonging to you

i love this boy in my bed
dreaming gentle things -
being a gentle thing himself

My stomach rolls at the thought of you,
it is a feeling as pleasant as you are-
You with your sharp eyes and upturned nose,
you who has no flaw.

A man named Frankenstein made something much like you;
a creature so perfect
-and yet, when it rose, ghastly and disfigured
there was some beauty in it.

You- you are no such creature
you are a hollowed shell
void of love and understanding.
You have not known rejection, loss
      self-loathing
and to see my brokeness was a shock.
To watch me crumble appalled you,
-you turned away
and rejected me as the creator - the created.

Though my heart is fashioned
of borrowed and broken pieces
I am not your monster.
I raised myself from the dead
-and after you- from the dirt.
You- you my dear doctor;
parading the flaws of others
as a grotesque banner
-it screams:
"I am perfect"

Was I more satisfying to break?
Did my will to fight terrify,
inspire such hatred,
that you could no longer stand the sight
of a girl set ablaze?

My stomach lurches - you stand at my grave
dear Frankenstein, do you regret?
She is not there.
She died.
It is only I who remain