I stare into the soul of the sky
As it's shimmering in the black of the night
It shrouds me with it's light
Whispers to me secrets and careful compliments
"Just sweet nothings to help you blossom."
She said.
"Now grow."

My roots have been planted deep beneath the ground
Leaching flavors from the dirt
But left malnourished
Because toxicity around me kept me weak.
Now fully watered, in healthy soil
I immerse myself into the nutrient rich earth
And I feel alive again.

My fronds stretch and grow in echoes
Vines twisting and pulling me upward towards the gleaming moon,
Beautiful and bright.
"Just like you."
She said, reaching out with open arms
To hold me in her grasp again
Petals stretching through the sky like fireworks.

"So deserving of life and love."
She said
Planting the next root beside me,
Watering it, nourishing it as she did me
Whispering flattery as the next prospers as I have.
Growing together,
roots burrow further
Similar leaflets unfurl to intertwine with mine
Like hands holding each other in the dark.

She watches as we thrive together
Swelling into the early morning moonlight,
adoring each other as is.
Stems swaying in the wind
Our petals gracefully caressing
As the love transfers from one to the other in fluorescence.

"Bloom, my children. Bloom together and love deeply, forever."
She said.
And our growth was never faltered,
Not by wind, rain or fire,
Or the inevitable trampling of careless feet.
In adversity we held each other up,
Encouraged careful healing
And inspired to create.

Our glimmering beacon of hope reminded us
As she careened away into the morning sun
"Fate has a way of keeping close the roots that must be near each other, in order to grow the strongest."
And we inevitably flourished to be the best we had never been.

The darkness is surrounding me like a curtain of misery,
Locking itself onto me so I couldn't remove it and emerge as the woman I am supposed to be.

But who am I supposed to be?

Perhaps I'm convinced that this is the only me I know,
But I look at myself in the mirror every day and grimace.

I know that face,
Those eyes are unmistakable, the jawline too, the lips with bow of cupid, the nose. . . I know that face.

But the person inside is someone I am not.

I know this. I FEEL this person trying to get out like a rat stuck inside of a cage.

I propose a toast!
To throwing myself on a journey of self discovery and the ruthless unveiling of the fraud I am now!

I will never allow myself to be smothered by these unapologetic thoughts of disaster.

This time it's going to be my choice.

And I choose to feel alive again.

6 years ago you would have known
Exactly what I was doing
Exactly how I was feeling
Simply based on what I posted on Facebook.
Every detail of my life was there in black and white for the world to see.
I was an open book,
I made it easy for you
Because you didn't have to ask.
5 years ago you would have known
Who wronged me and how,
But you would never know how I was trying to fix it.
When my world was falling apart and I didn't know what to do,
It would be made apparent
Because venting my frustrations and clicking "post" was my way of letting go
So I could do what I needed to do.
You would know that I birthed my children,
But nothing of how my labor went
Or what my experience was afterwards
Because you never asked.
4 years ago you would have known
Who I was spending time with and how often
You would know more about my kids than I originally intended to share.
You would have known I was hurting then
But you wouldn't know why
Because my vague asides to the internet
Lacked the details you needed to render a fake response of support and admiration
Although they were given anyway.
But you would have never known the struggles I faced then,
Because you never asked.
3 years ago you would have known
about the things I found interesting because I shared them with all of you.
You would have known
That I had been hurt by someone I thought the world of,
But quickly recognized wasn't worth my time.
You would have known
That my kids were my world
And I was in love with someone good for me
But nothing more than that
Because the only thing provided to you to gather your opinions were pictures involving events we experienced together
Appreciation posts
And nothing else
Because you never asked.
2 years ago you would have been reminded that my cats are just like my children,
That my kids were growing too fast
And I was struggling to keep up.
You would have known that my relationship was wholesome
And everything I had been looking for
But you never would have known how badly I was battling with myself in life
Because you never asked.
1 year ago you would have known
That I had made the decision to move away from everything I had ever known
And loved
And every single one of you that barely know me anymore
Would assume this was the greatest decision I had ever made for myself
But you wouldn't know what I went through
And learned during my time there
That caused me to move back
Because you never asked.
In my present life,
You will never know who hurt me,
You will not know how my kids are,
Which bridges I am mending
Or which ones I've set on fire,
What I am doing to better my life,
Who I am involved with,
How I am feeling,
Or the things I am experiencing
Because you'll never ask.

Happiness and laughter use to fill the void in my heart where love should be, and I never had a worry in the world.
You respected me enough then to let me know where you were and when you would be around again, but communication turned to my own ignorance, except of your design.
Our "I love yous" were like clockwork, we knew when they would be said and how often, but they began escaping our mouths less and less until it was uncertain when they would be said again.
Instead of being affectionate when we could be, the distance between us became larger in scale, and we may as well not touch at all.
Would our embrace hurt like being served a 3rd degree burn? How wrong it all began to feel almost suggested so, but instead, the empty feeling I have while standing by you says everything.
Commitment morphing into disaster, romance transforming into resentment, and I crawl into my bed at night wondering what went wrong.
The sad thing is, I had it all planned out in my head. I had created a new folder in one of the best destinations of my memory and titled it "Our Life."
Unfortunately, nowadays that file is not found and I struggle to accept the deletion of such fond ideas.
Perhaps my creativity has dissipated, but I consider myself an artistic being so that can't be.
Perhaps my memory is corrupt or I never saved my thoughts in the first place, but I memorize material like a straight A student studying for an academic decathalon therefore the possibility does not exist.

The scenarios play out in my sore, overworked mind until the correct one makes a connection...
And I know that the next time you leave, you won't be coming home.

I've come to understand why some people do not find hope in anything, at any time, in any place.
The constant disappointment when you love and lose something precious to you is too much to bear.
The weight of every failure you've ever had to face drags you down to the dirt; the taste of soil is filling your mouth as you try so hard to get back up again but keep getting buried even further.
It's almost like the time you went to bed and plugged your phone in to charge only to wake up and discover you forgot to plug the **** thing into the outlet in order to get the desired effect.
We're a society of broken people built on shattered expectations because no one knows how to keep their word.
If you love something, set it free because nothing is worse than getting caught up in hoping that love will go somewhere when it never mattered to begin with.
Those you consider close to you will leave you sooner than you can beg them not to, and you'll find yourself groveling in the dirt you constantly pull yourself up from.
You'll start sleeping on the couch again for two reasons. One: Your bed is too empty to sleep in alone. And two: if you keep sleeping where you rarely get a wink you'll end up sick enough to pass away unnoticed.
But you try not to get your hopes up for someone to fill that empty place in your bed or for that unexpected sickness to come around.
You just sit and ponder on the conclusion that you've conjured yourself, but are too cowardly to set forward: you're better off in the dirt.

It gets easier to recognize your demons when you're alone again.

I** am the rain on a sunny day, destroying everything that is remotely happy,

Absolutely revolting as I cling to unstable dreams of loyalty.
Masked by a dishonest smile, I strive to become the positive person everyone wants around.

A court of jesters surround me to justify my hilarity based on their singular opinion.

Carved out of the ivory of life, I break to shambles under immense amounts of pressure.
Unforgiving poetry escapes my mouth in the most destructive way possible.
Nothing I say can justify the horrid choice in vocabulary I spread out on the table before you in a fit of rage and misunderstanding, and now
Tomorrow is another day of regrettable instances and apologies that mean absolutely nothing to you.

Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.

I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.

I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"

I find it easy to commit to someone...

perhaps that's part of the problem.

I never expected you to treat me like an obligation
But I also never expected you to treat me like the most amazing woman on earth one day
and then like the most needy, annoying human being the next.
I notice I've become an inconvenience.
I'm sorry kissing me no longer brings you any joy.
I'm sorry that our intimate moments are no longer significant.
I'm sorry that, even after promising me you weren't like the rest,
you ****** me

And you left.

What am I?
As I search for answers in the void of the unknown I find none of the conclusions I am looking for and begin to feel intolerable.
To myself.
To others.
People stray away from me like I am some sort of disease, yet are still talking about me as if I could never hurt them although we share occupancy within the same room.
I find excuses for their ignorance and continue on my way and I still begin to wonder if every encounter I ever had was in vain because I refused to poison them with my sense of independence.
What am I?
I control substances as well as I control myself. I become unsure on how to stop my self-abuse and it occurs to me that I may just be as ****** up as they say I am.
I may just be a reincarnate of a bundle of people who have ******* up everything they've ever had. I'll never know.
What am I?
As I sit in the darkest corner of the room with my head in my hands I contemplate the truth of the words that spew from other people's mouths like a plague of ***** deemed to destroy those who beg themselves every night to gather the strength to stick around for at least one more day.
What if I told you I was planning what could be the most creative ending yet? Whether my own or another's you'll never know... and I couldn't wait for you to see the star of the latest attraction in Life's circus on display.
I saved you all some oxygen, I hope it's to your liking.
What am I?
Well what have they always told me?
A dead end?
Disappointment?
Failure?
No. Something much worse.
Nothing.
I am nothing.
And we've all tried to make something out of nothing haven't we?
Didn't work very well did it?
Hi, my name is Nothing and this is the last breath you'll ever see me take.

It's three in the morning and instead of sleeping like I should be, I'm wrapped in a towel on my bathroom floor with tears welling in my eyes like a faucet that drips when it's not turned off the entire way. Why was a made this way? Who made me who I am today?
I guess I only have myself to blame; me, my cigarettes, and hair dye that change my personality as the wind changes directions on a stormy day.
Everything is building up like plaque on unbrushed teeth and my head begins to feel heavy from the weight of all the thoughts cascading in all at once like a waterfall designed specifically for the nature of my brain. I am not welcome here anymore, the welcome mat has been swiped from under my feet, the door slammed shut and locked as many times as it possibly can be. I'm not allowed to be omniscient in my own problems, because if I did I would have too much power and even if you're the ruler of the land you still need to go through a congress to get any permission to make any decisions.

I am sick and ******* tired of screaming so loud and having no one hear me, so if this is the first and last time I get this out there then so be it.
We're living in a world that is rampant with hatred towards others who deserve nothing but love and devotion.  And we find ourselves on our knees worshiping  those who warrant disgust and shame. We exist in a system that is so ******* corrupt that I fail to see any solution that we may have for correcting this.
Everyone's talking about killing people and ******* the corpses and those criminals are still out there roaming the streets without a care in the world because someone else is serving THEIR time. If you don't get caught that means you've succeeded right? Their breathe reeks like the skeletons in their closet, and still we refuse to open the ******* door to expose the truth.
There's sexism in the courts; a chick can say you looked at her the wrong way and she can get your *** sent to jail. One word about a threat, and someone's in handcuffs. A man steps away from a law man to gain some time to defend himself against heinous accusations and gets saddled with resisting arrest. Criminals with permission.
We shouldn't have to ******* worry about whether someone will be here one day and be locked up the next. Live and let live has turned into search and destroy everything you once held dear to yourself.
I have the right to remain silent and even if I don't say anything, they will use it against me... just like my past significant other used his weight of over 300+ pounds to own me however he saw fit.
While you're up there taking an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth so help you God, your right hand extended to some supposedly glorious being and lying through your ugly ******* teeth, I'll be over here solemnly swearing I am up to no good, conniving to set things back on track.
Call it Karma or call it anarchy, call it whatever the ******* like, but things need to ******* change. It's time.
I have the right to remain silent, but it sure as hell doesn't mean I'm going to.

It's getting hard to sleep because I've noticed every single thing you've touched on my bed smells exactly like you. I can almost feel you here holding me closely and not letting go, our fingers laced together so tightly we are nearly inseparable.

I'm trying to find the right words to describe you... but you're just too perfect. Every single word you say to me burrows into my brain like a parasite and will not leave its nest; reminding me constantly just how lucky I am to have you.

I am terrified that this is all a dream, that I'll feel myself falling off the edge of a building and my body will **** me awake before I splatter all over the ground and I won't know you as well as I do, or I won't get to know you as well as I want to.

I hugged you tightly that night as we lay together; and I'll tell you now that I  was afraid to fall asleep. The truth is I nearly cried as we held each other in the dark of my room, as Coheed and Cambria filled the air.

You see, last time I had held someone this close to me I was informed he wouldn't be there when I woke up because he will have gone home, leaving me with an empty space in my bed that I had not asked for. In fact, I had nearly begged him to stay so I didn't have to be alone... Just for one ******* night... but he disregarded anything I said. He left.

But, this time when I woke up the next morning I was warm from a loving embrace, which is something I had clearly never really felt before. I felt comforted instead of chilled from the cold shoulder of someone who shows very blatantly he doesn't give a **** about how he makes anyone feel.

And that morning, I received precious kisses on my shoulder blades as I struggled ever-so-gently to wake up and my heart nearly melted in your perfectly sculpted hands.

That morning I was woken up by shivers, butterflies, and happiness instead of drowning in a disgusting alcohol-free cocktail of misery, dread, and anxiety over all of the things I said wrong and needed to apologize for.

I was able to ******* live instead of recoil at the thought of any lonely days following... I was capable of laughter and sleeping without the aid of medication I never wanted to ******* take in the first place.

Happiness they call it... I forgot what that felt like.

It's simply sublime.

"What's the matter dear?"
Psh... They say it as if they actually care.

Everything.

Nothing.

I have no ******* clue what is actually wrong with me.

What is so wrong with me that I am squeezing my lungs with my dirt covered hands just so I have trouble breathing, just so.. perhaps... I suffocate myself...

What is so wrong with me that I've had to cry so often my tears have turned to sand and they begin to erode my flesh?
I've sobbed so often lately that the features of my bare skull are now where my pretty face should be.

I'm such a **** up.

I swear they told me that the minute I was born. You would figure it was my name.

Hello my name is: **** Up.

Nice to meet you. I hope we can be great frie--- oh great.
I've done it again.

I said the wrong thing.
I held out the wrong hand for the handshake.
I'm too ugly for them to talk to.
I'm too skinny.
It's the pimples again isn't it?
They weren't this bad yesterday I promise I just pick
Pick... Pick... Too much.
I'm s-sorry I k-keep st-stuttering its j-just that you're s-so... pretty.  Oh y-you have to g-go? O-okay...

The abandonment issues never really go away.

It gets harder and harder to talk to people. Even in your dreams you try to scream to get some recognition for yourself but every word comes out silent.

Crowds are your worst enemy. You get lost as they swarm towards you and your body suddenly feels tight. Your stomach flips upside down and you're not breathing steady.

And then... Oh! There's that suffocation you wanted earlier. Is it everything you expected? Breathe it all in! Oh wait... You can't. Hahaha!

You can't speak, and when you do you st-stutter again and you speak so quietly that it doesn't even matter anyway.

"I exist." You whisper.

No one heard you, you know.
Instead their voices bounce off each other and you feel light headed as that once wonderful cranium fills with the clamor of the incredibly untalented voice-drummers you unwillingly surround yourself with.

My entire body trembles with anxious defeat.


Such a **** up.
You can't even get him to talk to you again let alone love you, you miserable *******. You're going to be alone forever, you know.

And your own friends!... They're out doing drugs and you always believe them when they say they're going to quit. Jokes on you. This will traumatize you for the rest of your pointless life, especially when you know you could have done something.

You can't even take care of yourself, what makes you think you deserve those wonderful twins you hold so closely to your heart? You should have listened to your father when he said you'd be a terrible mother. He was right. You're horrid.

Sticks and stones WILL break my bones, but words will indeed **** me.

Hello, my name is: ****** Up

Welcome to the town of Unimportance.
Population: Me

When our I love yous turned into nothing I began to wonder what it was that I had said to lose you to the void of time and people who did not have your best interest at heart.

I mean I was the only valiant soldier to stick through all the years of ******* everyone set on your plate for you to devour like it was something you could trust.

I did everything I could to show you that you were the highest priority of mine and still you sent no regard over the way I loved you.

Removing my heart multiple times to set on a golden plate for you to stomach was the hardest part of this, because I still do it every day and receive no recognition until you're ready to try a piece of my beating vessel and give me the time of day.

The misery I feel for you abuses your taste buds like the nostalgia of our time together consistently picks at my grey matter and causes the butterflies to choke me up again.
There are too many now to just remain in my stomach.

It's getting hard to breathe.

My nerves aren't yet shot. In fact they're very reactive to every tooth you grind over my flesh to ******* distinct flavour one more time.

You swallow.
The seasonings of pain, guilt, heartache are to your liking as usual. You want more but you want to keep us anticipating the other days you receive us back into your heart for a few hours.

You tell me to put my heart back behind the pathetic cage of ribs I own without even saying a word.
PLEASE stop pulling me apart to swallow the last few pieces I have left for myself.

You're so miserable and you refuse to let me in to stitch you back together to the one I remember so clearly. But I still love you with every dreaded beat my heart takes.

My words begin to come out mixed with despise and an overwhelming amount of adoration.

I'm falling to pieces, but I wouldn't change a thing about you.

"You love me, and I love you oh so much. Everything is fine." You told me this once and that is the only thing holding me together these days like some sort of crazy glue designed by love.

I can't breathe anymore.

I ******* hate you, but I love you oh so much.
Why is everything we had between us falling out of touch?

I find it sad that I've begun associating you with headaches and bad dreams more often than not.

It's like the only way to reach out to you is to reschedule the days you want to fall in love with me all over again like those days are just some sort of meeting for me to potentially become a home for you.

My arms are open like the front doors of a 5 story mansion with a small attic added on top like icing to a cake and yet you refuse to close them for good for me.

You arrive and pull open every single window and door, you turn on all of the lights, and every trinket that thrives off of my energy is switched on in addition to that without a care in the world of how much of my electricity you are wasting.

Eventually you come to the heart of the house, you turn the flame on high on the stove, you walk straight out and you leave me to burn again.
It's every single time I see you that you do this to me, and somehow I always found the tools to rebuild myself.

This time is different. This time I can't because I'm shattered beyond repair.  Being the glorious architect that you are I figure you could design the sort of place you actually wish to live in.

But you won't.
I'm not in your outline anymore, am I?

You once told me you wanted to fix me, and now is your final chance, because once I find the courage, the meaning, and my resilience to assemble myself once more... Just know that:

I'm closing all of the doors and locking them from the inside with golden keys that I can melt down into reminders of who I'm to not let back in. My arms will not open up for your embraces any longer, lover, not even if you try to pry them open.

I'm closing all of the windows and barring them from your needy hands. They will have to find a new toy to play with.

I'm turning off all of the lights so someone new can learn where the lightswitches to my soul are located, since no matter how often I moved them from you, you still knew me well enough to turn me on.

I'm extinguishing the flame that is constantly flickering between our fragile figures, blowing it out like a candle, and never giving you the ability to light me up again.

I am a female powerhouse and I belong to no one.

My bed has become too big for me.

And not in the sense where my limbs are dangling off the edges,
But in the sense that there shouldn't be just one person lying alone in the dark listening to the stories the walls are telling.

I've come to the point where my tears either burn on my skin like the razor blades you once turned me off of or I've not any left to shed
Because my soul has become as dry as the desert on account of bleeding out until I had no cells left to live for.

There is no more little bird fluttering it's wings to help me know I'm alive, its pulse has left with mine to go off to paradise and ive become a walking distaster-piece trying to find any amount of solace in being forsaken.

My bed beckons me to come back; to uncover it of whatever clean laundry I didn't feel strongly enough about to put in its proper place, to lay down in its arms again and stay a while..

But I no longer find comfort there.

See, my couch has only room for me just as my heart only had room for you, but now I've been left vacant like another apartment after the lease has expired.

I may as well wonder around with a sign reading 'Damaged heart for rent, contact Valerie at 1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER' as advertisement.

I've clearly peaked your interest as some sort of toy long enough for you to continuously return and play with me.

So, go ahead and make an attempt at erasing the history we have between us, officially published or not it still exists and it still bestows significance within our lives.
In yours.
In mine.

You pick up your phone, your hand trembling as your fingertips carress the numbers designed to reach me and me especially.

Go ahead and make love to me one day and then later treat it like a one night stand because I don't have emotions and God FORBID I would call you out on the way you kissed me goodbye that night and didn't talk to me for days following.

You carefully reach towards the green call button to make the engagement more realistic.

Go ahead and abandon me like everyone else, I don't expect you to need me when I don't even need myself.

"I'm sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error please check the number and try again."

1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER

I'm going back to bed.

I've been alone for so long I'm forgetting how to cope with the inevitable sense of dread I swallow when I finally lay in bed.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I did not give you permission to **** me inside of your head.
Please get your imaginative hands off of my unobtainable soul,
and close your mouth,
you're drooling like a coward when he sees something that he cannot have.
I belong to no one but myself.
I am old enough to know the rights of my body.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

Stop recording every moment we will never have with your undistracted eyes.
I did not ask for this,
I am covered in clothes that do not accent the curvature of my frame and yet still you gawk,
and I will be asked what I was wearing that night.
I was wearing my right to say no,
but to him I was wearing my inferiority.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I am a female powerhouse.
I am competent with my tongue in many ways yet you ache to abuse it.
I am inclined to tell you what is best for me, but I am a woman.
And I know nothing.
You will beat it into me until I actually know something so well that I choke on it.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I am incapable of loving because, to you, I am not justified,
so you will show me how until I cannot breathe any longer.
The bruises and scars will taint my porcelain skin like mud on brand new sneakers,
except the black, blue, and crimson cannot be rinsed from my body
as easily as my clothes were removed by you.

I am only pretty when I'm dead.

I am not at liberty to blame anyone else for what has made me who I am today,
but I shove the salt of guilt in the wounds of others like their pain is all I long for.
If anything I'm a *******;
seeing you in agony assists me in feeling alive.
Not because you're hurting,
but because I am too.

Tell my mother I'm sorry
that the love notes I wrote were never for her,
that she never had enough time to actually pay attention to me or what I said,
that she wasted her time tucking me in at night to help me feel loved when it never even helped,
that I stepped on the cracks in the sidewalks so her back was constantly broken  while she was trying to provide
for everyone else but me.

Tell my dad I'm sorry
that I was such a failure that every step I took in the right direction was the wrong one,
that his voice went hoarse but at least he was acknowledging me,
that no matter how many times he left bruises I counted it as a hug,
that he never had time to listen to me,
that he never had time to swallow his pride,
that he never had time to love me.

Tell my siblings I'm sorry
that they never took the time to understand me,
that they'll never know just how easily harsh words can stick in someone's brain,
that I ended up so much like the person they despise,
that I lived up to every negative expectation they had of me.


Tell my friends I'm sorry
that my conditions were some sort of joke,
that I never actually mattered unless they needed something,
that when they replied laughing out loud when I said I was dying they couldn't even recognize I actually was.

And tell my heart I'm sorry
that I forgot how to sew it back together again
when it
stopped
beating.

I take showers to brush off the chill you leave behind when you forget I exist.
The water doesn't hug me quite as tightly as you do,
nor keep me quite as warm
but as I imagine your hold enveloping me while I let the droplets caress my skin,
I feel whole again...
if only for a little while.

The water is getting colder now and you begin to fade away from me.
I just wish you'd stay a little longer,
love me a little harder,
hold me a little stronger
and I beg you please...
Please don't forget my name.

The water is getting even colder now and I no longer feel your grasp.
I keep hoping for you to linger on my skin
but you've already gone again.
Please wear me as a pendant,
tell me you'll never forget my name.

I'm beginning to hold myself and its just not the same.

I am made entirely out of glass, if you look hard enough you can see the cracks gleaming through from my insides and begging you to fix me from the outside in. I am not something to be forgotten and yet I always am. I am put inside that box without newspaper to keep my edges safe or bubble wrap to hold me in place and even still those precautions will never be as secure  as your hands once were to me.
I'm getting colder with every piece of me that bleeds into the abyss and will never be seen again. By the time we get home next I will have lost another piece of me that you once cherished more than yourself. I'm apalled that you just let me fall away from you so easily when you once told me you adored me more than you adored most things. You polished me daily and put me on the highest shelf, I was the largest priority to you until I started falling apart again and you found other statuettes of glass to keep your company as you waited for me to glue myself together again.
But that's not how this works. You can't just collect knick knacks like it's your hobby, and tell them you hold such a substantial amount of affection for them and move onto the next without even telling the prior that you were sorry you broke them but their needs were no longer important... or perhaps never were.
As you caress the curves of every other goddess you set your eyes on and you become overwhelmed by the beauty of them all, I hope you shatter under the pressure like you shattered the rest of us. I hope you come to the realization that the amount of perfection that you receive in that specific juncture is not your decision any longer.

Everything I love will leave me eventually but because of me they would have basked in affection effectively. At least they'll know they were never alone. I have mistakes that I'll never be able to atone for, but my apologizing is all but finished in this world where everything I love  must diminish.

I'm so sick of being broken and you have all my pieces to put me back together in all the correct places. You keep trying to put them in on someone else's vessel and it isn't working no matter how hard you chisel in to try and make it fit. That piece doesn't belong there, not even just one bit.

I know who you are and you're not the type to just drop something like it doesn't matter, no matter how much you desire to. I know who you are. If you can't tell that the way I'm breathing right now, with my hands going numb as I try my hardest to write you the sweetest serenades before they lose feeling, the way my heart pounds in my chest if someone even mentions the title of your god forsaken constellation means that I love you more than anyone else ever will, then *******.
Here I go
down
down
down
to the very depth of your core because deserting me somewhere I'm unfamiliar with is so gentlemanly of you after all. I'll never find my way out if you don't let me.

I'll still love you
Even when you're the ugliest person I've ever seen.
Because that's what I do best;
Love the monster before it ever shows its face.

I cannot see my heart in anyone else's hands
but yours.
The fact that you hold on so tightly
whether you intend to or not
is still there every moment of every day.
Your attempts,

if that's what they are,


to         push      me      away,
areonlypullingmecloser.

I cannot let go of this rope I'm holding on to, this line between me and you.

If my hands set you free you'd no longer be cared for properly

and that's what I fear the most.

There's a reason I notice your name where I never thought it belonged before, and I don't think my heart can project my feelings where I set my eyes to look because if it could it wouldn't jump so hard and fast at the slightest vocalizing of your name. I try to shut that book like I violently slam the door shut on any negative thought of you. I've never seen signs like this before, it's almost as if they were flashing neon lights that were actually important to someone.
No.
Not someone.

Me.

Twenty plus miles away seems miniscule to those who have never felt love so existential and unconditional.
Sometimes people just fall further and further even if they can see the person on the lower end has no intent on catching them and wills they drown in someone else's ocean.
But you... You taught me how to swim in any body of water I had happened upon and I keep choosing yours, hoping to reach the heart of this ocean eventually.
Even as the ebb and flow pull me in multiple directions willing I stay away your face is all I see, your gentle voice is all I hear, your emotions are all I feel.
I am becoming one with you, as every intimate detail of your soul is etched into my brain and deemed something of the utmost importance.
People beg I come back to shore where I belong so I can discover a different vacation spot, but I refuse to quit you.
Until your storm occurs and murders me, until it washes me away for good- this is where I will remain.
Because I refuse to quit you, and with you I will stay as a permanent ornament to this specific ocean. History can not be destroyed, it can only be created.

Everything is so dark and I can't see past it.
When the light at the end of the tunnel is no longer there how am I supposed to find my way home? Your arms were the only solace I had and now I'm just here alone.

Maybe you think she's too much like you, and that you couldn't stand loving yourself because you've seen how strongly you can love someone and it has always ended badly so you don't want to break her anymore than you already have.

Tonight I'll sleep with my clothes on, because I don't want to wake up from dreams of you kissing the delicate skin of my back to find that your existence is no where near me.
I don't want to suffer tonight knowing that when I wake up I'll be colder than I was in your arms when I saw you last and the only solace I have for heat are layers of fabric instead of your skin.
If there's one thing I could ask of you now, it would be to make me your lover, and make this your home so I can guarantee your safety myself instead of relying on someone else to keep that ******, beating vessel all in one piece.
I don't trust anyone with you but me, because I know things about you that no one else does and God forbid I even try to share your secrets anywhere but in the air directly between you and I. Let me grasp your hand in the dark and have you feel my warmth, so you know I'm there. So you know I won't let go.
Make me your lover and make this your home so I can cherish you like no one else will. So I can remember all of my favourite things about you and help you mellow the things I don't. So I could kiss you every night and be guaranteed to still have you the next morning. So when we say goodbye to one another, I know the timeframe it will be a goodbye for....
Because it won't be goodbye. It will be 'see you later.'
But tonight I'll sleep with my clothes on, because that way I don't have to bear my scars to anyone else but the dark beneath the fabric; so my heart can bleed freely and maybe you won't know of the loss I've suffered for you.

I'll keep you safer than you ever thought was possible. Every secret hidden behind seals and locks, and the keys thrown away like a rotten dish that'll never be seen again.
Here, my arms are wide open now run to me and stay... I could never let such a broken beauty be shattered yet again by hands that were too careless to see the fractures that make you so hard to accept in every day life for all, other than me.

Your warmth is more than welcome to mix with mine and stay forever, because even when you've gone away I feel you here for days.

I just want to be the one you come home to at the end of the night.

Let me apologize, to begin with because of my body type.
I will NEVER be good enough for anyone to date due to current 'hype.'
You know, the battle of 'bones' vs curves?
Just let me inflate myself to the  right number so I can properly serve
As the perfect specimen for your delicate eyes.
Obviously no one is good enough unless they've got decent thighs.

But just wait a ******* minute, because here I am again:
So let me apologize, to begin with, if I offend
You or your friends who think they're too good
To date someone larger, with some extra love under the hood.
How many times have I heard you exclaim in disgust
Of how large she is and how you'd drown in her bust
If you even got near her? I saw you shaking in fear.
From your head to your toes, you were trembling dear.

See I'm told to eat more and maybe, just maybe,
At the end of the night I'll be the one you call baby.
But if I was larger, and let's tell the truth,
You'd be so disgusted by my 'sweet tooth.'

I could eat an elephant and never gain a pound,
She could eat a salad and the crunch is the only sound
You hear a mile away and yet you would assume
That burgers and French fries is all that she consumed.
Do you ever stop to think, ladies and gents?
The true beauty of someone isn't based on the number on their pants.

So, let me apologize, to begin with,
If I bruise your massive ego,
But the way to tell if she's the perfect woman is not by your libido.

It's hard knowing
you're not in the right location
when everyone ahead of you
is doing so much better than you are,
and when you try to follow them
you get lost in throngs of people
who are
just
like
you.

You become plastered to the stereotype
like the same boring wallpaper
in the same mundane house;
the kind that someone wants to cover
with accomplishments because it's too ugly
to deserve even a quick gander.
And that's alright with you
because it's just how you feel: ugly.

You become melancholy at the thought
that every word you try to spread on that
revolting wallpaper in an attempt to make it beautiful,
before someone else tries to do the same,
just keeps being buried under yet another outstanding triumph
from someone who isn't you.

It's beyond difficult to understand
you aren't in the right position
to become the dream you made up inside your head
as you step over boundaries that are faded
in hopes you can immediately be where you desire
and require
when the design has a necessity for time
and careful planning.

And all you want is to find your escape
because the stress that continues to bear down on you
is pulling at your center as well.
You've no idea where your home is,
but it certainly isn't in the arms
of the mattress you claim solace in every night.

They claim that home is where the heart is,
but your heart isn't with you.
It's living luxury somewhere else.
It's every
single
day
you hear yourseld murmuring
'there's no place like home'
But you don't receive that free trip by clicking your heals.
You don't find your way home
by following that rabbit down a hole.
Can you find where you belong?
Or will you be lost forever in this Wonderland like me and everyone else?

I want to be the only desire you have
when you wake up in the middle of the night
sweating for pleasure;
where the tension is so strong
I stir in my sleep to ask you what is the matter
and you timidly answer that you had a nightmare,
even though it's a lie
and you're too shy to admit to your carnal need
and express that the real reason you're awake
is because your dream
nearly made you wet
and it disturbed you
because the person in your head at the time
wasn't me.

It all seemed so real,
until you woke up with my small frame beside you,
with my chest rising and falling slowly
and the growing pressure against your boxer briefs
was becoming too much
as you stared at my smooth skin.
I nearly frightened you when I asked of your well-being,
you didn't think that wishing I would wake
would work.
As you told me you had woken from terror,
I turned over drowsily
crawling over you
to embrace you with kisses
and 'everything will be alrights.'

When you started to shiver
from my affections
I knew that there were other reasons
we both had stirred like this
in the middle of the night.
Our passion became heated,
but I could smell the guilt on you.
Something was wrong,
something was the matter.
We continued though
until we both finished in each others' sweat
and had inhaled enough of one-another's carbon dioxide
to save thousands of trees.

Only then did you tell me
another had tasted who I wanted
so badly to keep
for my own
for the rest of my life.
Only then did you tell me
you did me wrong
in so many ways.
Only then did you tell me
that you no longer dreamed of me
and you abandoned me.
Just like everyone else.
Just like you promised...


That you never would.

Those tears you bear are proof that you've been through too much at one time. Your breaking point is found and your body refuses your heart the right to see its rhythm or rhyme. Strength in the shape of someone so broken is the toughest kind around. You're a lover and a fighter, and someone who can astound all of those around you who ponder you with questions. Such a beautiful soul that is locked up with good intentions should never be hidden so far behind the ribcage to never be found once more. This flawed design is a hindrance to you and your very core. Don't you ever give up, don't you ever surrender. You've made it this far, don't forget to remember.

Knives pull bits of flesh from my core in order to bear your name and they just keep etching  further. God forbid I dig my own heart out to attempt sharing it with you! Your regards towards my sentiments are all but juxtapositioned with my own!
Why must I wait behind your doors waiting for you to open them when I had found myself within you so easily before? Why all of a sudden have I been banned from your essence?
You may as well just tear my heart out, it's not like I'll feel a difference; you take pleasure in murdering me anyway. It arouses you.

Death be to all whom have tried to love you.

He wrote her a letter
"Hello,
I miss you"
And she replied neglecting legible correspondence

What, my dear, have we become..? Who are we now that the night is done and a new, bright day has come to rise where tears are glistening within my eyes? Who are we now? What have we become? Things don't even change with the rising sun. Its still the same as it was before, its just all hiding behind that door that's right in front of us but locked with no key. Or maybe there is...? But it's nothing we can see with our eyes clouded over and our hearts filled with sorrow.,.. This is how it is tonight, and how it will be tomorrow.