Worn shoes,
tired eyes,
ruined mascara,
from last night,
grim faces,
pretty lies.

does she
feel the same
from last night?
go for a walk,
and over think,
maybe it's time,
for another drink.

if i was better
in every way
could i catch your heart
and make you feel the same?

violet skies paint violent nights

She has coffee stains on her white shirts,
But she has no regrets.

She has stretch marks, and acne, and she has cuts and bruises,
But her smile is wide, and her heart is bursting.

She gets wolf whistles and cat calls,
But she still wears what she wants.

And she likes tumblr and black tea and short skirts and she loves
Her own superficiality

And she wears glasses and highlight and her favourite shade of lipstick red,
And she is bold with her own anxiety,

She loves and she forgives, she fights and laughs and sings off key,
She is happy.

And she was not asking for it.

she,
has coffee stains
on her white shirts but
she
has no regrets.

Months ago, I lost all my poetry.
All my woes,
All my frustration-al
thoughts
that I
couldn't
fight through,

But I had no remorse,
No sudden upset- ness
over losing
All
my work.

And I had no care,
I had not planned to grieve
over my terrible forgotten loneliness,
And I didn't even notice
for a while,
I didn't notice
that my need for validation
through my work,
Had slowly melted
away throughout
my blooming.

Poetry is my antidepressant,
Well it was before I healed,
So when I flushed my pills
My poetry
Down the toilet bowel
I didn't even realise,
That I,
Have
Healed.

I lost all my poetry,
I didn't even notice,
But I had no remorse.

Come with me,
Let's walk through space
And never stop.

We'll fight like men,
And we'll dress like women,
And love like asexuals.

Our necklines will plunge,
Our skirts will be short,
And our shoes will be boyish.

Let's fall in love,
With italian men
And the bottoms of our glasses.

So darling come with me,
We'll walk through space,
And we'll live.