If I should find a time machine I will travel back in time to when you were six years old.
I will look into your scared, not yet masked in makeup doe eyes and I will tell you that everything will be okay.
I will let you know that even though you don’t feel six years old, you are.
And next year you will be seven, and then eight.
And no, maybe when you’re 16 you will not feel 16, but you will feel 22.
And when you’re 17, you’ll age four years because of broken hearts and the evil of the world.
And I will tell you that even though in a few years time, when you are nine, and you think you know everything that this world has to offer, you won’t.
And that will be okay.
Sometimes it is okay not to know everything.  Even though you want the answers, I swear to god sometimes it is okay to not know.
And even though your world is falling apart right now, and home feels like a battlefield, and you are the grenade set to explode, you aren’t.
And even though your parents are on opposing fields and armies
And even though you are no man’s land, stuck in the middle of a firing squad
And even though you have lost the ability to cry because at six years old you feel numb
And even though you lost the one pair of arms you felt safe in
And even though you want to save your brother from the childhood you are currently living in,
you have to stop worrying.
You are six years old, and soon you’ll be seven.
And you won’t feel seven.
You’ll feel seventeen.
And I’ll feel twenty six.
Because I have lived my life for seventeen years and I know that you are scared because I am scared too.
It will get worse before it gets better, I promise you that much.
But you will spend your entire life trying to find the perfect balance between happy and sad, the good and evil and your mom and dad.
And when you are seventeen, you’ll feel twenty six.
And you might understand.
If I should find a time machine I will travel back in time to when I was six years old.

eyes like supernovas and just as stellar
your eyes were my favorite constellations
your pupils orbit your view of the world
slightly dilating when you see someone you love
I hope they dilate when you see me
I never owned a telescope but looking into your eyes
was the closest thing
galaxies kissed your lips and wanted to stay
so they painted themself in your mind,
keeping vibrant and brilliant forms of stars
each thought connecting the dots, forming orion’s belt
and your fingertips traced euphoria in the form of the big dipper
and the little dipper was the curve of your arms
where I would rest my head sometime soon
and soon I will look into those bright eyes
and I will feel at home in saturns rings
which were outlined in your irises
and you’ll look into mine
and our sets of planet-like pupils
will expand into blackholes

I once knew a girl who wore flowers in her hair
and hope in her heart
she carried herself with a smile and a straight back
and she never slouched once or told anyone she was sad

she had long brown hair and big brown eyes
and she loved the universe, and everything in it

she once told me that she wanted to grow up and do everything
she didn't say what, she just wanted to do-
she wanted to be
and I didn't know what she meant but now I do
because all I want to do is be, for her

because she didn't get to grow up
and even though she ended her life,
the girl with the flowers in her hair
did not **** herself

words did;
words uttered to hurt
and they hurt, they really hurt
but she doesn't anymore

and even though she's gone,
she's not really gone because I see her everywhere I look
I see her in the people that were good to her
I see her in the leaves that I avoid stepping on,
at my childhood home, where she visited for my birthday parties
when I pass her house
and when I go to our old school

I see her in the good in the world
she taught me lessons I needed to know
and even though she took her own life,
she taught me more about living than dying

I once knew a girl who wore flowers in her hair
and even though she's gone, she's not

never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
she’ll end up caring for you more than she cares about poetry
and that will mean destruction for both of you
she will compare you to the stars and the breath out of her own lungs
and she will count the minutes until she can be with you next
this is entirely troublesome, especially if you don’t feel the same way
although if you don’t, a heartache will be cause for more inspiration
I suppose love is a win win situation for writers-
fall in love, you have inspiration
fall out of it, you have inspiration

never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
she will get to attached
she will love you too much
she will fall in love with the curve of your spine
and the form of your smile
and the structure of your bones
and the placement of your words on her mouth
and the way your hair falls floppily out of place
and the way you don’t love her at all

never fall in love with a writer
never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
never fall in love with me