sometimes i wonder what it would feel like to be dying,
and then it hits me that life is just a metaphor for death.
we are growing and growing,
and this growth is only preparation for our demise.
some of us don't even make it all of the way.
if i knew this when i was in the womb, i wonder if i would ever have come out in the first place.

as i sit here, typing the way i learned how to in the fourth grade,
i feel my head being weighed down by my thoughts.
i'm scared to get on the scale because they surely have doubled my body weight, crushing my confidence between their thunder thighs.
it takes a lot of self-persuasion to convince myself that i am not made up of numbers.
i am not the amount of bones in my body,
i am not the result of a test,
i am not what i dial into my phone just to hear your voice mail recording,
i am not the numbers on the scale.
three digits are terrifying, two bring solace to my night.
but do they really?
are two digits enough to stop the thoughts in my mind from running before my body catches up?
"******". "obese". "huge". "disgusting".
how can TWO DIGITS get rid of these thoughts?
newsflash: they can't.
two digits don't do as much as i used to hope.
my body is finally keeping pace with my mind and i'm realizing that there is more to life than numbers.

understanding the human mind just teaches us how to manipulate it better.

i prefer rainfall over
sunshine, and maybe that
explains why i'd choose
you over anyone else.
i always hope that
it's a beautiful day
wherever you are, and
all i ever want to do
is kiss your spine and
never apologize again
but my lips have yet to meet
the skin on your back
and for that
i am sorry.

what you mean by your:
metaphors; you make my heart beat louder than the footsteps of thousands of soldiers marching methodically.
tone; audacious, yet wary, laudatory, and adoring.
allusion; i know this girl who makes my heart race faster than Jesse Owens and she looks an awful lot like you.
repetition; i love you, i'm in love with you, i love your pulse, i love, love, love me.
hyperbole; i'd ****** everyone on earth just to get a taste of your lips.
just tell me what you mean.