when she left home
she wears skirts past the knee
button-ups only if they have wooden buttons

she has these socks light blue the same shade as her eyes
look like pools at 7:00 pm

she parades around with an emerald stud at the top of her ear
just so you can only see it when you push her hair behind it

her music taste is that of a second-generation hippie with a millennial stepmom
could sit for hours if she had an iPod and a field

all she needs is the clouds and the stars to heed
it's like watching a flower grow and live through the weeds
planted wherever she thought had the nicest sunset

she was sleeping beauty
pricked her finger on a record player

eeeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrryytttttttttttthhhhhhhhi­iiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg

dies
everyone lies
we all wear a disguise
no human can possibly fly

immortality
is a fiction
our fixation with youth
is an addiction

the truth descends from our perception
what are we left with?
inception?
another form of self-deception?

i don't know what
this or anything means
are we individuals?
or are we collective operating teams?

i love you
coming of age is a natural occurrence
such as riding a bike
and heartbreak
and 4 am nights
learning how to brush your teeth everyday
road trips
no one ever tells you how to deal with the emptiness
we don’t talk about how hollow it is
like a beauty mark never fading
and indescribable pain never felt so numb
because nothing ever happened
i just fell off and crashed and burned and now there’s a hole
they don’t mean to hurt you
it’s just not the same anymore
i’m lost in the woods
finding my way, in the dark
birds are chirping in the distance
but everyday the nights get longer
and everyday the tears get drier
and the bags under my eyes look best when i’m awake
there’s only so many lyrics to sing
and there only so many nights like this
and there’s only so many things to stay for
i am empty and lost in the woods
and i love you no matter what happens

i made tea and it smelled like early mornings and carpooling to high school
i put on my old perfume and smelled heart pounding and felt kisses
i wore my sweatshirt and i haven’t felt warmer than i did on the bus in february
i made coffee and heard voices asking for a sip because they are literally falling asleep in first period
i made tea

but what i don’t love is when i tell people about it
it’s shallow
i want everyone to know about it
because there is so much to love in the world
but we lose ourselves on the parts that don’t
and it makes no sense to me why we spend what little time we have loving the things that hurt us
we are here to feel and love and experience and hate and do
we aren’t here to judge
or to tear down
so just love
when i’m not here to say it you need to be able to

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i want a book romance
long
sweet
poetic

i want to be written about
to be described in detail

my hair told with every synonym you can find
my lips a memory you can put into words
barely
my eyes pouring onto a page so deadly staring at the words

our story told with passion and precision
each interaction a transcript to review and lavish in
to hold you and call it beautifully written
love like a story

i want a love to write about
i want a love so robust
it bring the arts out of your fingers

i can taste it
memory in my mouth
sound on my tongue
heaviness on my head
i’ve felt this for way too long

comfort yet scarce
i never wanted it
it just happened
i love thé way it bit

tequila and vitamin water
desperate times call
desperate measures answer