It's when you hear me
I feel like I'm a flower
Touched by morning dew
I want to be my own muse
maybe if I write poems to myself
finding a pretty way to describe the stardust hidden in my hair
the perfume I leave on my scarves
the fact that my hands are always, always cold
so cold I just got used to it
maybe if I write about
how my tears taste like the sea
how my tea tastes more like sugar instead of, you know, tea
how kisses -technically- taste horrible to me
and still I find them so incredible
if I paint pictures of my neck or my chapped lips
or the way my hair just falls nicely when I just woke up
if I write about my favorite sweaters
and I sing sonnets inspired in my high heels
and how they make me feel taller
four point five inches closer to the sky
maybe if I write for my muse
I can make her fall in love with me
and with that maybe
be in love with myself
for you, if you needed this.
The world is brighter,
the colors seem happier!
i don’t have to hide away
behind my fake little mask.
My friends who read this,
the bracelets aren’t because i’m hurting myself,
I just think they’re pretty!
Just like me!
I’m eating more,
or trying to!
Food is good...
Food tastes good.
I’m getting better,
Much, much better.
Secrets aren’t nice.
Secrets and lying don’t make me feel good.
you know that feeling when
you stare too long at a word and
you no longer grasp the meaning so
you stop looking?
perhaps that’s why
you fell out of love with me
you stared too long and
decided to stop loving
Are like apples
On trees.The best ones
Are at the top of the tree.
The boys don't want to reach
For the good ones because they
Are afraid of falling and gettting hurt.
Instead,they just get the rotten apples
From the ground that aren't as good,
But easy.So the apples at the top think
Something is wrong with them,When in
Reality,they're amazing.They just
Have to wait for the right boy to
Come along,the ones
Brave enough to
to the top
of the tree
she was not the sun
nor the brightest star
she was the quiet, unassuming moon;
gentle gleaming light that tumbled
through my window sill,
silver strands of mercury woven
through her starshine hair
just as bright
as anything else in
I always carry a book with me
Like a place to hide
During the rainstorm
Warm and dry