Put a candle under
the rose bush.
I am going to draw blood
from the moon.

See my body has become
a boat and you are the sea.
I am an opus Dei
and you are my deity.

We mist and we rain
on our frailties. The drama
unfolds, when we grieve
for the butterflies.

Who was taller than
our sins? Like pixies
falling from the skies.

Knock, knock;
Hollow and empty
You can come back another day if you want
But you'll still find nothing.

A universally known rule of science states that if you heat something up, if you get it hot enough, it will melt. The same goes for the heart. Once it tastes love, tastes the sweet burning of passion, it will begin to crack and change it's shape. You poured over my heart, smothering it in burning love, dousing it in simmering care, heating it further than I ever imagined it could go. My heart melted, all my walls and insecurities, my doubts and worries melting with it. And then you were gone. You were gone and you took everything with you, leaving a mangled, deformed shape covered in soot and sorrow, barely reminiscent of a heart behind. You burned hot and fast, and you left a path of destruction in your wake. You destroyed my heart with your fire. You melted me beyond recognition. But if you melted me with the inferno that is your being, does that mean if I grow cold, if I freeze my heart, it will reform? If I coat it in ice, will it stop hurting? If I cover it in stone will it finally remain whole? If I bury it miles beneath soil and mountain, will it ever be found again? I don't know. But I'm ok with not knowing because I don't know if I ever want it to be found again anyways.

I write when my chest gets tight and it feels like I can’t breathe
And for (what feels like eternity) everything I’ve worked so hard to keep secret comes

crashing.
down.

Imagine being in a wave pool, going deeper than you knew you should and getting knocked under,
and considering the possibility

maybe

that you might not come back up for air;
now imagine that feeling everytime you open your eyes.


Poetry about happiness?

I’m sorry, I can’t help you there.

I want you.

I want to know your favorite color and your middle name.
I want to know about the people you hate and how you found out you loved women.

How do you make your sandwiches?
What foods do you like and can’t pronounce?
What places do you want to see and what words do you know but can’t explain the definition?

Can we cuddle?  
And by cuddle I don’t just mean lay on you, because trust me, I can do that without cuddling. By cuddling I mean let me hold you till you forget your problems and I finally stop talking.

I want to call you baby. I want to sit in a room, with you, listening to jazz music.

I want to feel your pulse and you feel mine,
I want to hear your heartbeat dance to the rhythm of the same songs on the corny playlist on Spotify I made that remind me of you.

The Special Playlist,
(I call it)
The Makeout Playlist,
(you do).

I want to only be about to hear our synced hearts
and the slow songs
and the weight of the world leaving our shoulders
plopping onto the floor with your worries
and the jacket I took off of you when you first came in.

I want you to tease me
because I significantly failed as a former lesbian
because I’ve never watched Orange is the New Black
or The L Word
“You’re not Lesbian certified”
You’ll tell me.

I want to speak to you
In my limited German vocabulary
and watch gay movies
and let you tease me even more
when you find out I can’t sit through *** scenes
even the really gay ones,
and ****** isn’t my thing.
It’s okay though,
Your laugh is cute.

And I want to kiss you.
I want to kiss you like
we’re those ***** *** teenagers
from Romeo and Juliet,
(but with a better ending).
I want to kiss you like
there’s nobody else in the world
And there aren’t people who hate me for liking you
And your family won’t care if you love me because
****,
I want to kiss you.

Let me buy you flowers,
and want to take you on dates.

Let me take you to McDonald’s
and order off the dollar menu because
I believe in treating my girl right
(And I get an employee discount)

let me tell you why I churches make me nervous
and how I don’t believe in God and
why I don’t like birthday parties
And how I want to have my cake and eat it too
Even though I hate cake
And prefer cupcakes,
But nothing is better than cake if that’s you.

I want you to know why I played trumpet for three years then switched to baritone,
I want to know if you’ve ever done drugs and how it felt.
What are your morals and values?
What’s your utopia?

I want to send you goodnight texts and spend hours talking about nothing
And dance offbeat with you because
neither of us could have rhythm to save our lives.
I’ll let you scream fight me when I let you win in games I would destroy you at because you get that goofy smile when you think you’ve won.

Introduce me to your family and I’ll show you mine.
Let me see your baby photos and we can see foreign movies on Netflix.
Let’s go out for coffee and ask deep questions.


I don’t care, okay?
I just want you.