there are so many poems on this website that i secretly dedicate to you.

the windows of your 1985 Chevrolet clouded with steam produced by our heavy breathing.
this summer night was particularly hot and made us even more eager than usual to shed our unnecessary layers.
lipstick trails took me to foreign places on your body and i felt like i was learning a whole new language with every kiss.
we tried to have each other all at once, impatient desire fueling our every move.
moaning louder than the engine of the old vehicle,
going faster than its 80mph limit,
we caused the Hawaiian ******* the dashboard to hula like there was no tomorrow with the way we shook; one would think we were driving over potholes from a distance.
when it all finished, our skin simmered lightly on the friction-heated leather and we melted into each other's arms.

just go away.
i'm only doing my job and you know that.
these pills that you make me take clean me out of everything that you are convinced is wrong with me
i am not a ******* garbage can.
you can't just rid me of my insides every time you see something you don't like.
if anything, you are the cause of this newly formed rot on my exterior.

it didn't take long for you to realize that i am a sucker for anything that rhymes.
you could woo me without even making physical contact.
i was on my knees, begging for more, and you expertly delivered stanza after stanza of lies that you recited thousands of times to other girls just like me.
once you got what you wanted, you didn't even bother to put me back on the shelf so that others could find me.
you left me, slumped on the ground like a rag doll, my knees ****** and bruised beyond recognition.

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.

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.

i learned how to live off of nothing but your words and two bottles of water a day.
who needs food when i have the only fuel that i'll ever need?
although somehow i'm still crumbling and
i sleep as much as an owl does during the night and
i haven't breathed properly since the day you took my breath away.
late night promises echo in my head.
i hope with every ounce of my being that you keep them.
i hope that you keep me.

When I was little, I refused to get out of the bathtub until the water cooled down completely and my skin resembled my grandmother's.
Now that I'm older, I take showers that seem to last forever.
I feel like the water is washing away all of the bad, all of what's wrong with me.
I'll go outside in the summer just to stand completely still in the torrents of rain, waiting for something to happen.
After all, I learned in school that water is the strongest force on Earth.
That water can conquer anything.
Water shaped the mountains.
Water shaped my bones.
Water will change my fate.

she wore earrings that weighed down her ears and her soul

i sleep my days away and dedicate my nights to you.

Oh dear God,
How you make me shake.
I haven't been this nervous since I taught myself how to ride a two-wheeler in the sixth grade.
That day brought many scraped ankles and a bruised ego.
This one swells the ***** that pumps blood and other things methodically beneath my left breast.
I think that's where my heart is supposed to be.

Oh dear God,
How your voice makes me simmer.
I'm a tasteless soup, watered down and with all the good parts hidden deep inside.
You can't see them; you can only feel them.
You can only taste them.
You are what gives me spice, what gives me heat.
What gives me life.

Oh dear God,
How you make me adore you.
You are the smell of rain.
You are the sheets tangled around my torso in the morning.
You are the blush behind my cheeks.
You are the aches in my chest whenever your name is said out loud.

Oh.
Dear.
God.

I will brand you like a farmer brands his cattle.
My lips will burn marks on your flesh, claiming you as mine.

i found a home in your eyes
long before i needed to find a new home
you see, growing up in a family like mine hasn't been easy.
mother began calling me mature when i began calling her "mother" instead of mommy
i stopped being daddy's little girl the day after i was born
i lost the twinkle in my eye too early; my grandmother had hers until the day she died.
maybe i'm dead.
that would explain why all my teachers say that i'm so ******* precocious.

opening you was like opening a freezer.
cold air spilled out and i needed to grit my teeth to keep them from chattering.
your heart was frozen solid, preserved in a block of ice.
i still wonder if it will ever thaw.

death would be easier than dealing with this.
or would it?
i can't be trusted with this decision.
it'd be comforting to know for sure that my life is being controlled by something else.
my veins are aching, leaking out through tiny holes you poked with your teeth
my once full energy supply is now depleting,
battery life draining down to 5%
warning, warning. connect to charger.
1%.
i'll shut down, soon.
hopefully in your arms.
how difficult is it to understand
that people like me never sleep soundly?
i'm sick of you(r) people
and your UPPERCASE letters
UPPERCASE standards
UPPERCASE expectations
you, better than me?
hah.
please.
whispers drawn from scratchy throats,
whispers being the loudest they get,
coated in alcohol and ash.
you try to scream
but your voice is muffled by
the weight of your decisions
i told you to stay with me forever
no way to say no
you're stuck heading in one direction
promises are promises, dear.
you told me you'd rather die.
i'm feeling cold
no shivering, waves of frost wash over instead.
they're much worse.
i keep on tucking my hair behind my ear
it won't stop falling from the perfectly made groove
curved to perfection
signed and dated.
it falls how my best friend "accidentally" fell off of a balcony
mom always warned me about balconies.
why do you think i always walk with one hand against the opposite wall?
it's reminder that you can stay away from the gravitational force that is Earth.
at least, for a bit.
why do spaces matter, anyway
jus ta wayt odi st ance
things that should be,
that belong,
together.
the boy who sits behind me in class
plays with my curls, and then
one day,
he cut them off.
i trusted him.
kinda still do.
trust is a weird thing.
trusting someone not to look when you change is hard,
they could turn around and you'd never know.
somehow,
trusting someone not to tell everyone that you want to die is easy.
i'd trust you even if you held a gun to my temple.

i am beautiful
                                                                                      but i am not breathtaking.
i am smart
                                                                                           but i am not ingenious.
i am kind
                                                                                                 but i am not cordial.
i am a person.
                                                                                                  i am not perfection.

the thing is,
i don't know what i'm doing;
i don't know who i am;
i don't know why you came back;
and i don't why i let you.

if i confessed my undying love for you, kneeling next to your tombstone, would it still be considered too late?

I trudged through the snow in the middle of the road to get home today. If you had voicemail on your phone, I'd probably leave never ending messages.

i'd shed a tear or two if the end of the world was tomorrow because i still haven't kissed you yet.

he calls her an enigma
like she is something he will never bother to try to understand
the thing about people is that we assign labels because we can't be bothered to delve deeper into the minds of others.

I cannot feel your love
Too polite as it knocks on my eternally locked door
Standing there for ages, holding flowers, now wilted and brown
I peer through barred windows
Your skin barely in my view
My house shakes with every knock
Fat tears rolling down reddened cheeks
You tuck a note under the welcome mat
And finally turn away
In a matter of seconds, you're gone.
I hang myself the next evening.

i'm not sure if i like how this website has a black and white atmosphere.
i always thought poetry was supposed to teach me how to see in colour.
after all, a world of black and white is limited.
however, there are endless shades of grey.
he was the boy who made me see colours i never knew existed, just the way the words that flow from our mouths bring new hues to this planet.
the sad part is, they disappear as quickly as they come.
cycling.
what goes around reallllyyyyy comes around.
such is life.

Not even the wetness of your eyes can bring me back to this life; if that's what you call it. No longer a tale of you and I.

some people think that the best type of poetry is written at 3am while the house is silent.
others argue that it's written by a drunk and broken heart.
for me, though, the best type of poetry are the things i spew at any given time.
when i'm sitting in the school hallway talking to you, but to everyone else it seems like i'm talking to myself.
when i raise my hand to ask a question in class, and my ideas pour out of me with the intensity of water flowing through a newly broken dam.
the best type of poetry comes when you least expect it.
remember to keep your eyes open.

my vision is black
no twinkling stars
to brighten my night
you never realize
how cold space is
until you're engulfed
in its darkness

lips numb and blue
cold sweat *******
the heat from my bones
muscles contracting
violent spasming
jaw chattering, clicking
noises echoing
in the emptiness

i have been reduced
to a pile of rubble
called 'bones'
if i was human
then where is
my soul?