The vastitude between you and I is impossibly large and oh my how my heart aches.

I keep a cracked mirror in my room.
My mother asks why,
Yet I'm too scared to tell her that it's because I want to see what's on the inside of me.

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.

Why do hearts beat?
They're not providing entertainment for the musician nor the observers.
Rivers flow without a pumping source so why can't veins?
*
Bodies of water vs bodies of people
I once watched a documentary about a woman who couldn't lie down because her blood stopped flowing.

I'm more than depressed and time is slipping through my fingers like sand

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.

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.

The thing about most love poems is that you never know who they're talking about but you always have someone different to connect it to than the author did. I find it beautiful.

when i talk to you time is no longer relevant
the hands on the clocks spin around out of boredom and suddenly it's three am and i have a whole list of responsibilities to look after
although on the list of things i want you're right at the tippy top
even above the title.

4:20 am
Can't sleep.
I remember how we discussed getting high on that bumpy car ride home with the windows rolled down and the AC cranked up to the max.
4:30 am
Can't sleep.
"Mom, I've been up all night."
Too embarrassed to admit that I was talking to Beloved, I throw my head back and wash away a neon pink pill with a gulp of water.
4:35 am
Can't sleep.
My tense body is screaming for you to be here to relieve the aching of my muscles that are far too overworked and far too exhausted.
Even despite the fact that I spend my days wasting away in a relationship with a bed that doesn't even know my favourite colour.
4:40 am
Can't sleep.
Restless because I miss him.
Restless because I have him.
Realizing that my inability to sleep spawns from the lack of motivation to exist the way I'm supposed to.

i wish for a purpose i wish for meaning i wish for these pains to go away

I learned that people's eyes dilate when they are attracted to someone and when they are panicking and those are two of the many reasons why the orbs that rest in my skull are only black and white

i should not have to prove that i love you.

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 sleep my days away and dedicate my nights to you.

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.

darling, please eat.

I anxiously await the day where m(i)ne (become)s yours and (you)rs (become)s mine.

i begged you to beat me up because i thought i deserved it

All she could do was die.
*So she did.

i searched up the meaning of your name, and i learned that it means "beloved".
apparently that's the meaning of my name as well.

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

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.

I never knew I could write poetry like this until I met you.

You don't even know how to clean up your own mess.

most of the time i hate wearing things around my neck and wrists because they feel like shackles and i am a free person

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.

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.