I stare in the mirror,
But my brown eyes very pointedly avoid my reflection.
Instead I allow my sunset eyes
To pour into the cracks at the edges of the glass.
Not enough damage to the mirror to consider it broken,
Therefore not enough damage to consider it bad luck.

I stare into the scrapes, cracks, and scratches,
Until I see someone I have always been familiar with.
I may be even more familiar with this person
Than I am with myself.

My eyes lock
With what
Almost
Was.

Yes, the Almost!me.
The Not!me.
The Could-have-been!me.
The Just-Wasn't!me.

I am very familiar with her/him/they.

She is athletic, and only smiles when people are around.
He is talented, and his hands are always covered in a thin-to-moderate layer of graphite.
Their favorite color is spit-fire red, and they've seen too much for their age, but they love even more.

See, there are a lot of differences between me and those versions of me,
Like how she has a cute golden blush to her cheeks,
Or how he has a fondness for sunny days and blue skies,
Or that they always pull their friends in for a warm hug before they say goodbye.

But the one major difference is:

When I look at rain clouds,
I see all the potential that rain has to offer,
Not the destruction of my plans.

When my life takes a turn for the worse,
I see my loved ones as a reason to stick around,
Not as reasons to pack up and leave.

The difference is
When I said that I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had someone who wanted to protect me from myself.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I was give at least five reasons to stay.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had people who loved me that had the guts to try to convince me that I might want to rethink that statement.

So I wave goodbye,
I clean off the mirror,
And I turn off the lights to the bathroom as I walk out.

Each time I walk past my reflection for the rest of the day,
I make eye contact with myself,
As a way of saying
"Thank you for staying."
A way of saying
"Thank you for surviving."
A way of saying
"Thank you for trying to live."
and then
"I really needed that today."

See, the big difference between me and all the almost!me's, is that I am here,
Very firmly and very stubbornly above ground,
Despite my past efforts.
And they...
They are not.

The biggest difference between me and the me that wasn't,
Is that they just weren't.
And I am.

I am.

It doesn't feel real,
That you love me.
That I'm yours.
That you're mine.
That we've got rings on our fingers.

I look at you,
And it's like a dream.
Not like my usual ones.
It's like pixie dust and fairy glitter.
It's like the morning dew and budding wild flowers.
It's like the taste of honeysuckle and too-strong green tea.

I feel your hand on my hand
Or your hand on my thigh
Or your hands on my hips,
Or your hand running through my hair,
As innocently as possible,
And I feel like I belong.
I belong right there,
Beside you.

And that's why it scares me.

I just wanted you.

That's all.

I wanted your smile,
Your laugh,
Your warmth
And your arms around me.

I just wanted a chance for my heart to glance upon
The galaxies in your eyes.

I wanted to love you,
To show you all that love.

I still want that,
You.

And while I know I have you,
I also know
I might not have all of you.

Type and type
Until my finger tips bleed
And write and write
Until the blisters sting.

Home isn't a place
Where to lay your head down,
Because places have  a tendency
To much like bridges,
Burn to the ground.

And beat your head against the wall,
Over and over
Because of that nagging feeling
In the back of your head
"Not good enough"
Eats away at the parts of you
You considered dead.

But it's getting later,
And you're not getting younger.
But who the hell cares,
I, being the general "you" I mentioned earlier, would wait an eternity to be by your side.

I'm flying away from my troubles.
From the pain,
From the wounds of my past.
And though I'm by your side,
There are plenty of scars along my skin.

And I hope you don't mind,
But I'm a little strange away from home.

But home isn't a place,
It's where my heart is,
And my heart happens to beat
Alongside yours.

No, I'm afraid home isn't a place,
Rather,
It's a heartbeat.

Preventing myself
From expressing concerns
Of whether or not you've eaten,
Sending a quadruple text
Explaining that I miss you and
That I hope you're okay,
And that I kind of want to send you
Funny pictures
And throw in an awkward picture of me
Hiding behind the cocoon of blankets
I've wrapped myself in.

Today was a bad day.
I can't wait to hear your voice,
But saying that--
Well, I've been told that's bad,
That's weird,
That's not quite correct to tell someone.

I hope we get to the point
That it's okay.
I'm sure you wouldn't mind
Hearing things like that,
I'm just scared you might.

It's awful that there have been people
Who have told me the exact opposite
Of the things you've said to me.
You care to hear what I have to say,
And you don't want to hear my apologies,
Not because you think they're guilt trips,
But because you think they're unnecessary.

I really want to hold your hand,
And listen to you speak or laugh,
Or even just breathe.
And I know that's insane,
I know that's weird,
But I've never felt this way before.

There aren't butterflies in my stomach,
But little sparks trying to start a fire in heart,
So that way when I see you,
I know I'm home.

I sign my letters
usually with a dash and then my name,
or a "Yours Truly,"
because of a song I heard
when I was, I think, seventeen.

maybe eighteen.

but if I were to write you
a letter
I'd fill it with all the different ways
you light up my soul
or all the different ways
you fill up my heart

and if I were to write you,
I'd kiss the seal of the envelope
to make sure you felt me somehow,
and if I were to write you,
I'd send the letter with sugar and oatmeal raisin cookies,
and red and black tea.
and if I were to write you,
I wouldn't unless you were too far away
to hold.

because as much as I simply adore letters
and the written word
having you in my arms now
is much too important
to miss out on.

yours truly,
and yours forever.

You stole my heart.
You had a grasp on it a long time ago,
I'm sure you were familiar with parts of it,
Even though now it's scarred up and bruised
And has a few pieces that don't fit quite right anymore.

You stole my heart,
Within a smile and a laugh,
And I was pretty sure you took it
That Saturday when I asked for a hug,
And you gladly obliged,
Because when I walked back to my parent's condo,
I was walking on air,
My head was so far up in the clouds
That I swear I could see the stars
That made up your favorite constellation.

You stole my heart,
Upon glances you thought were stolen
By the fire,
And warmth and kindness within your voice,
And understanding from your tone
Melting down my walls and my fear.

You stole my heart,
When you taught me how to play chess,
And I ultimately failed,
But I revealed that I cared this way,
That same night.

You still stole my heart,
When you held me,
Touching my hands,
My shoulders,
My sides,
When I was afraid of your touch not by fault of your own,
But not afraid of you.
When you reminded me that you're here to stay,
That you're not them,
That you won't hurt me like that,
That you won't hurt me at all.

You stole my heart,
By making me laugh,
By understanding my tears,
By being honest
And caring
And careful.

You stole my heart,
So I took your last name.

Sitting in a pew,
Thinking of my nightmares of you.
Kneeling to pray,
But no God will save me today.

I sit in the confessional,
But what can I confess to these halls?
Bloodied traces and
Tear stained faces,

I was thirteen when I threw up blood for the first time,
And I was turning nineteen the last time,
And humans are filled with bad intentions,
We sin in order to ignore all that our hearts mention,

Like you're only doing this for the thrill,
Or who would it ****?
You.
It destroys you.

We make excuses
To validate our uses,
Of people or words or things,
And this judgment is all that I can bring.

I'll let you in on a secret,
Let's hope you can keep it.
I never feel better after confession,
Maybe I'm too guilty for my good intentions.

Panic floods my senses,
I can feel the tremors
In my hands
Starting up.

I am shivering
Though I am not cold.

Senseless triggers,
Unlike usual.
Being treated
Like a burden
Having my
Intelligence
Questioned,
Being anything less
Than what I aspire to be.

Shaky text messages,
Shaky typing
Lots of typos
Going back
Editing to make it look like
I'm a-okay.

I want to see
You.
I want to talk
To you.
Hear your voice.
Hold your hand.

At the very least
I want to hear your voice
I love you.
You love me.
I know you do.

Don't make me say I need you,
Though we all know it's true.

Roses are red,
Poppys are too,
I wonder if you know
How long I've loved you?

Some kittens are black,
And baby snakes can be green,
You are so gentle and kind,
And never try to be mean.

Some cats are orange!
And others are gold.
I want to be with you forever,
And together we will grow old.

Some birds are green and purple,
While my favorite is blue.
It was worth the wait
To fly (not fall) with you.

Lizards are speckled,
But foxes are not.
You always tend to be
Within my thoughts.

My favorite tree is a willow,
And my favorite flower, daffodils,
Are yellow.
So please hold my heart's pieces,
And never let go.

Roses are red,
And I feel just fine.
So please take my hand,
And be my valentine?

Ignite the flair in my eyes/the burning light within my bones/break my bones/watch me crumple/bruise me/break me/turn salt water/to blood.

I turn darkness/to fire/I turn your qualms/to fear/I am the outlier/I am the thunder/The lightning/The rain/The clouds/You cannot break me/For you-- and no other born of man-- has that much power.

For I am Powerhouse.

And it isn't my place to cut you down,
But I didn't say I couldn't prepare you.

I burnt myself making dinner again.

This time it was my arm, not my hand.

I want to be better.
I have to be better.

I know I have to be patient,
But it hurts me when I see that sliver
Of... whatever it is, in your eyes.

Maybe it's disappointment.
Maybe it's fear.

I know I have to get worse before I get better,

But I don't want to lose you.

I am a firm believer
That those who are meant to be in your life
Always have a tendency
Of coming back.

And I am lucky
To have found
Someone like you,
Who wants to stick around.

I wish I could hold you.
I wish I could touch you.
But the distance is too far,
The distance is too wide--
For now.

And my eyelids
Are heavy.
I want to drift off
Into some type of
Week long sleep.

I miss you
More than I think you can understand.

And sometimes I wonder,
Did I ever love anyone before you?

Because I don't really think I did.
I don't think I ever did.

And if I did,
It wasn't quite the same
As this.

Love is a funny thing.
It's always the same,
And it's always different.

But I know how I love you.
I know it's the type of love
That will take a lifetime to get over,
And I know it's the type of love
That lasts forever.

I feel like nothing.
Like I'm washed up and overrated.
Like I'm some type of loss,
But not quite unimportant enough
To go unnoticed,
But not quite important enough
To really be vied after.

And maybe it's just me,
Because honestly it doesn't strike me bad
Enough to make me cry,
But it strikes me enough to sigh,
And know this is what I'm probably worth.

A response,
A small phrase of comfort,
But probably nothing more,
Probably nothing less.

But I so desire
To be held and told
That maybe it's alright,
That maybe I'll be able
To sleep tonight.

But how can I rest,
How can I breathe,
When the monsters come for me
Even in my dreams.

There's no escape,
And there's nowhere to run.
He's destroyed what worth I had,
And I'm just so done.

And wish I may,
And wish I might,
I don't have it in me,
I can't fight the past-- Can I even fight?

I wanted to be braver,
I wanted to be stronger.
But I can't do it on my own,
I can't do it any longer.

I know for sure that you'll
Help me get through,
But I'm terrified of
What this means for you.

And I'm absolutely terrified,
Of something I can't see.
It's this monster I know too well,
It's this monster that follows me.

I wish I could
Change my way,
But I don't know what to do,
Nor do I know what to say.

And I love you so,
And I know you love me too,
But with this monster beside me,
What are we supposed to do?

I need your arms around me,
As soon as you can manage.
I hope you read this.
What the hell rhymes with manage?

I'm not much.
I don't know how much I have to offer.
I cook.
I clean.
I'm always thinking of you,
And things I could do
To make you smile.

Whether it be food to make
(Which always seems to fail)
Or books to give
(At least it gets some reaction)
Or, sadly, ***.

And that one is the one that eats me up inside.

Because I crave ***, but only with you.
And I use it as a tool
To validify myself.
Because I'm not pretty
Or worthwhile
Unless I can serve a purpose.

People say you deserve the love you try ao hard to give to everyone else.

They also say that if you expect the same from people that you give, you'll always be disappointed.

I guess the point is, I am only valued for as long as I am useful.

Paying attention
to your heartbeat
and your breathing
feeling your warmth
bleed through your shirt
and onto my skin.

and I can feel myself
shivering
because warmth is leaving my body
to make room for my wanting of you
because there's so much of it constantly
coursing through me.

and if I am
to be good
and if I am
to be strong
I must come to terms
with the fact
that there will be times
where you are gone
and it will hurt
and strike fear in me
in all kinds of ways
but i will be okay,
as long as you always
come home to me.

I keep seeing things
Quotes
About how you should be with someone
Who is terrified to lose you.

And maybe it's right.

But if you think I'm going anywhere,
Or letting you go anywhere,
You can ******* fight me,
And **** it, I'll win.

I'm just angry,
I'm just sad,
I'll get over it.

But I am yours,
And you are mine.

And nothing will change that.

I'm tired of letting my high hopes destroy me.

It hurts, but I have to let go sooner or later.

I'm done.

I spent all week afraid
Of something that would never happen,
And it kept me up all night,
This fear,
And my ridiculous inability to block out thoughts or noises.

And you told me that you love me,
And nothing has really changed because,
Well, why would it?
I was being ridiculous.

And now that I know that,
I can finally
(hopefully)
Sleep.

My anger with you,
Roots from my utter disappointment
In the spineless little squid
You've become.

You're a coward.
I'd call you a monster,
But you're just a bottom feeder.

You're not better than the shrimp
I shred to consume
So I can continue living.

You don't matter.
You did once,
You were good once,
You were kind once
Your heart and soul were pure,
ONCE.

But today all the promises
And hopes you gave,
Were lies,
And destroyed lives
And I hope you feel guilty.
I hope you feel regret.

Because I may forgive you,
But I'll never forget what you did to me.
You
Won't
Live
This
Down.

If my life
Was a pretentious and overly validated
Piece of literature
Written by a skittish play-write
Who most likely used a pen-name
To write things,
Then my life so far
Would be considered a "Tragedy".
As in, everyone either leaves or dies.

It wouldn't be a Tragedy that made sense.
No, it wouldn't be like Hamlet, or Macbeth.
It would be more like Romeo & Juliet.

As in, it all started because two people
Made some dumb choices.
And then bad things happened.
And then everyone involved continued to make dumb choices
And lots of people got hurt.

My life, so far,
Could be considered a very literal
"Series of Unfortunate Events".

I never was very good
At forming relationships with people.
Friendships, bonds, whatever.
I don't know how to make a connection
With people.
And when I do,
I sabotage it.
Because everyone leaves.
So I burn that bridge before they get a chance
To even srtike a match.

I'm not a permanent-kind-of-person.

I never have been.

I've never wanted to be. At least, that's what I tell myself as the bridges collapse into ash and soot and smoldering embers.

... And then, there was you.

You, the kind of person whose rare cheshire grin lights up the whole room,
Even if just for a second.
Even if it was just there on your face for a second.
There was at least a little light,
For at least a second.

You, who refuses to leave my side.
You, who puts up with my inability to comprehend that you love me and you are staying and that I don't have to be afraid. I don't have to burn our very old bridge.

You, with your thoughtful scowl,
And loving hands.
You, who quietly observes the world.
You, who is always there when I need it.
You, who is always there when I want it.

You, who is my everything.

You, who I love.

You, who I have always loved.

Maybe we'll get a happily-ever-after, after all.

I am coming,
For all his stars they turned to shadows.

I am coming,
For all the hurt they gave him.

I am coming,
For all the turmoil they put him through.

I am coming,
For all the demons that ever dared touch him.

I am coming,
To protect my monster.

For all they have put him through...
They have made his life a nightmare.

So I will become theirs.

What are you supposed to do
When your worst fears
Begin to come true?

I don't mean to sound self-loathing,
But I warned you.
This is what you get
For loving the sick girl.

Please don't be surprised
Or confused.
I warned you,
And I tried, before, to give you multiple outs.
Whether it be by pushing you away,
Or explicitly explaining
How I am, and what usually happens.

I can't make this feeling of worthlessness
Go away just because I want it to.

I can't pretend I'm confident when
There are just so many things
I'm terrible at.

And I can't just be better,
Stop being anxious,
Stop being depressed,
Stop not focusing,
Stop being manic or dysphoric.

It takes more than wanting to be better.

It takes a lot of work.

And while I know I can't do it on my own,
I understand if you don't want to help.
Or if you can't.

But this is what you signed up for
When you started loving the sick girl.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of of the way it feels on your tongue,
Whether you're spitting it back at him,
Or swallowing it along with your pride,
When asking for help.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of the way it feels on your lips
When they're pulled back into a grin
Or are pursed into a pout.

His name isn't important,
No, it's more of the way it feels in your throat,
A raw sensation on your vocal chords,
When you scream it within a dream,
Terrified of losing him.
Or just as raw, but a thousand times more euphoric
When it's pitched into a moan.

His name isn't important.
No, it isn't.
It's the way your face flushes when you hear his voice,
Or the way your stomach jumps into giddy butterflies when he's coming home,
Or the way your heart frenzies and then settles into a rhythmic beat when he lays his head on your chest.
It's the way he holds you
When you get too bad,
When you didn't mean it,
When you don't know how it happened,
When you just don't remember but it stings,
So he helps you clean yourself off,
He helps you clean it off,
And helps bandage you up
Before you go to bed.

It's the way he doesn't hate you for it.

His name isn't important,
Rather, it's the way he makes you feel like you're flying, and that the air is your home.
It's the way he turns the fan down and the heater on before he leaves, so you don't get cold without him there.
It's the way he eats what you cook, and doesn't tell you it's bad when it's bad, unless you bring it up first.
It's the way you notice the little things about him, like the way he holds you tight before he gets up in the morning,
Or the way he wraps his arms around you,
Or holds your hand
Or brushes the hair out of your face because he wants to see your eyes
Or just the way his silhouette against his colors strikes your heart,
The way his eyes pierce into your very soul.

It's the way you feel like you have to protect him too,
Just like he protects you,
Because he gets defensive when he explains that he wants to do something,
And relaxes when you explain to him that it's okay, of course he can do the thing he wants to do, you would never stop him from doing anything he wants, as long as it doesn't hurt him.
It's the way the worry in his eyes isn't judgmental, instead it's kind and warm and somewhat achy in your bones, like the flu. But it doesn't make your heart drop, like when he gives you bad news.

His name isn't important,
No, it's the way he wants to care for you,
The way he has trouble articulating how he feels about you
Because he's not the poet, you are.
The way he tries to show it through adverbs and actions,
And you notice it occasionally.
It's the way it still feels surreal
That he cares to the extent that he does.

His name isn't important,
No, not at all.
But rather, it's the fact
That it's his.

I am red with determination.
I refuse to let the darkness,
As I spiral farther into madness,
Consume me whole.

If it may consume me,
It'll at least be stuck with
One hell of a fight.

I am blue with steady hands, steady voice.
I am not one to give in,
And if I've made it this far,
I can make it farther.

I am green like the grass,
Green like the trees,
Green like flowers that haven't blossomed yet.

I am lively,
I am strong.
I will not allow
Myself to crumble.

I have come too far
Not to go farther.

I remember how it felt
When I looked at you
Before your eyes met mine,
When I saw you again
After seven (gruesome) years.

It felt very final.
I knew I loved you,
But I kept thinking
All through out lunch,
"This is it. The end all, be all."

The thing is, I knew.
I knew that when I saw you
While I was crossing the street
From the apartment complex to the restaurant, while my heart was exploding
With giddy butterflies, that this was it.
That it was you.
That there wasn't going to be anyone else.
And maybe there never was.

At least, not for me.

I looked at you the same way on Saturday afternoon.
It felt very final.
Even though I felt like there were a thousand sirens going off in my head,
There was one part of my mind that was silent, save for one fact.
That it was you.
That it had always been you.
There never was anyone else.

At least, not for me.

I'm not like you.
We're two very different creatures,
I tried to tell you this after I placed the things
I felt the need to return to you on our bed.
I tried to tell you that you deserve someone like you.
Because you do.
You deserve, at the very least, to be understood.

I am not like you.
I do not have primal, instinctual attraction.
I cannot look at others as though they
Are plausible mates.
I can't do this, because they aren't.
I have you, and only you.

I am not like you.
You, who can set down roots
And make a home out of wherever
Your head rests.

I cannot root myself,
I don't know how to have a home.
I've got wandering in my blood,
My bare feet were made for running away.
I don't know how to make roots.
I don't think I ever knew.

On Saturday (and every day since),
I have looked at you with the same finality that I had when I saw you again for the first time.
The same love.
The same longing to be able to make you my home.
The same remorse and guilt I always feel when I have to get up and leave what I love, because I simply cannot stay.

Because I don't know how to have a home, and it is a fools game to try to make a home out of a person.

I was trying to leave, because people like me don't deserve people like you. People like you, who are good and patient and compassionate, and have hearts made from gold, and souls stitched from clouds. People like you shouldn't spend time on people like me. People like me, who are petty and volatile and selfish, and have broken glass for hearts and souls made out of ash and smoke.

I was trying so hard to do the right thing,
For once.
To be selfless,
For once.
To give you a chance at a better life.

But then, with tears in your eyes,
You asked me to stay.

And I don't know why you would want someone like me to stay. Someone who runs as far as they can, constantly. Someone who can't make the sun come out from behind the clouds.

But when I looked at you,
I hated myself for putting so much dark pain in your bright blue eyes.

So, I looked at you like I've been looking at you. I took in every detail. I took note of every part of your face I had never told you I loved, even though I do. Like the bridge of your nose, or your cheek bones or the way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks when you blink, or how your hair sometimes curls into a swoop on your forehead. Or how your eyebrows are never really all that messed up but you always have at least one hair sticking out of place. Or how your jaw tightens when you're upset and trying to control it, and it makes your chin poke out just a little bit. Or how you flatten your lips into a line when you're thinking, or when you bite them when you're trying not to feel.

Or how your tears made the blue in your eyes brighter, and it reminded me what it was about rain I used to find so beautiful.

I was looking at you, and have been looking at you,
Like it was the last time.
Because you never know when that will come.

So, I was selfish.

And even though I had caused those tears, you asked me to stay.

And I don't know how to stay.
I don't think I ever did.

But for you, I could learn.

My skin is like ice,
And your touch is fire.
And you've melted me,
Melting me,
Into something I don't recognize.
No more walls, no more hiding,
No more being afraid.
Ever so slowly getting comfortable
With being loved.

Your heart is ice,
There's warmth close, beneath the surface.
But you don't speak to what your mind thinks,
You don't speak of the fire in your eyes,
Or the storm within your chest.
But I see it,
And I know it,
Because I feel that fire in your gaze
And it bleeds into me through every kiss,
And I know that storm fairly well,
It guides me back to your arms
When I feel wayward and scared.

And your voice is level and steady,
An array of soft orange at its' most anxious,
But cool blue and green at its' most loving and calm,
And I've grown so used to that
That when it's not,
Whether it be jokingly so or otherwise,
I grow concerned due to the intentions of others before you.

I'm freezing, honestly,
But I know when you're home,
I have a fire to look forward to.

I am shy,
I am timid.
I am loving,
I am compassionate.

I am all delicate features,
Curves,
And dramatic lines to define them.

I am meek,
I am sweet,
And I will rip your throat out with my teeth.

She clutches a stuffed rabbit
Close to her body.
His ears are threadbare,
All the fur has been loved off.

The lights overhead
Can mean life or death,
So she looks into the glassy eyes of her rabbit,
Her eyes imitating his,
What her mother would call "misty eyed".

She stares at the lights,
As they become more and more, ever the closer.
Ever the brighter.

She drops her rabbit into a bush, whispering,
"This is your chance. Go on, become."
The lights get brighter.
The bush does nothing but rustle.
"Please." She whispers.

The lights are too bright.
There's a hissing noise,
And in the shadow of the lights,
Much too bright too see her,
A rabbit with a fluffy white tail,
And very real paws,
Nervously bounds out of the bushes.

The rabbit hesitates,
Almost looks back.

And then he's gone.

I hate to see you go,
so far away.

tonight's our last night
for a month
and my heart has been dreading
the fact that I know
I won't sleep.

wait,
please,
in this
moment
please.

just wait,
let me breathe you in
let me hold you
let me bask in the light
of your smile
your laugh.

the closer I get
to your heart
the more it hurts
the farther you are.

but no distance
can successfully demolish
what I hold in my heart for you
and no distance
can touch how much
I care for you.

I will yearn for you
until we meet again
but you must vow
to be safe
and come home.

please come home to me.

I've made more than my fair share of mistakes,
And I've done wrong
And I've hurt others,
And maybe one day I'll succumb to the guilt,
But today isn't that day,
Nor is tomorrow,
Or the day after.

And some days I feel like I'll never be
Quite enough for anyone,
Especially the likes of you,
But other days I feel safe and sound
In the grouping of stars that brought us together.

I have more faith in the universe,
While you have more faith in humans.
It makes a lot of sense, when you sit down and think about it.

I have been let down by choices and decisions that easily
Could not have been made,
And you have been let down by things
Beyond your control.

And you seem to be mostly intact,
But I know there are parts of you that aren't.
And maybe, if I cannot heal the broken parts of me,
They could fit into the broken parts of you,
In that lopsided sort of way
That could make us both
Whole.

I dream in constellations,
Stars burning and the moon spinning in it's orbit,
Pulling and pushing the tides.
Tugging on my heartstrings,
Whispering things
To me ever so softly,
"You can be better,"
"You can be whole,"
"You've finally home,
"But your work is not done."

I dream in constellations
Of birds that softly sing,
And stories that have yet to be told.

I fell in love with you
The way baby birds learn to fly.
I took the risk, anxiously and terrified,
And jumped
And I soared.

I fell in love with you
The way a hurricane rains.
Slowly, slowly, surely, and then suddenly all at once and everywhere and so much that you can't even hear yourself think.

I fell in love with you
The way a wild animal learns to trust.
Sporadically and fearfully, and then wholly and entirely.

I fell in love with you,
And I will forever be loving you.

Okay okay okay okay
I know cursing isn't quite lady like
But what?

Why?

Look at all these tears!

I'm so scared,
Because I'm closer to the edge,
To the cliff that could lead to my falling or our flying
Than I thought
And holy crap *******
I'm so scared because why?

This is so familiar,
So right,
Like a warm hearth
That's always been there
I just never knew where to look
And how why what's going on
Why does this scare me so much
I don't want to be this invested,
But I'm so invested already.

What
How
Did this happen?

I'm terrified
Absolutely terrified.
Happy. Beyond happy.
But scared.
I've never had issues with commitment before,
I've never been afraid of being let down before,
But right now,
Here and now
I'm so scared.

Yeah, I hate rejection,
But that's a human thing.

I've never been so scared
To admit what I feel
But I'm so ******* scared
Holy ******* ****
What do I do?

This sense of blind panic
And fear
And the urge to physically run
As fast and as far as I possibly can
Really isn't helping my asthma.

And I'm having these miniature flashbacks
To when I was pressured into believing love was forced.
And into when I thought loving potential could count
But this is different.
I've loved before.
But it was different.
We knew it wouldn't last,
His dreams took him too far
And my dreams were too domestic.
So we didn't even try.

But **** it,
What am I supposed
To even say?

It's not about familiarity or it being simple or easy
It's about a need
A craving
To see your smile or make you laugh or better some aspect of your life
That makes even this difficult part of life,
That being my newly developing issues with committing to and expressing this feeling
Because of fear,
Refreshing.

Safe.

It's not that you're a safe bet.

It's that you're the only bet I'm willing to risk making.

Did that even make sense?

What
How
Maybe I am damaged
But **** the world if I won't try to be better,
I'm going to be better.

Hand me a needle and thread,
I'll stitch together these tears in my flesh
And pass the glue
I'll put the pieces back myself,
I just might need you around for this part too
Because I only have two hands,
And I'm a ******* mess.
But I can be put back together again.
I can do it myself, as I've said,
But having someone around to hand you the supplies
(Like sewing needles, thread, glue, scissors, and lots of gauze)
Is extremely helpful,
And kind of necessary to not get tangled in your own stitches.

I don't know how to handle this.
Maybe I'll just wait.
Should I stop nearing the edge of the cliff?
But the wind is at my back,
Almost begging me to take off.
Just go, see how far I'll make it alongside you.

It's so natural.
So necessary.
Nothing is forced,
It all just...
Happens.

How can something that feels so right,
Something so real,
Make me so scared?

Okay whatever
Forget it.
Hit the ground running,
Come out swinging,
All the cliches
With the wind at my back
I'm as ready as I'll ever be
Which means I'll never be,
But I need to be so let's go.
C'mon life.

Gimme all you got.

Close your eyes.
Put a hand over my heart,
Do you feel the missing part?
Help me take off and fly.

Can you hear the cry?
And I can't stand to be apart,
And this information I must impart
Upon you and I

That I must know
That the love I see is true.
Each day, every day, colors grow,
And so does my love for you,
And to and fro comes the glow
That is my heart's glance upon your eyes (and wings) so blue.

Foggy navy skies
And purple and pink clouds
Gleam and glow,
And we wait and we wait
Waiting for snow.

I find light in the gentle
Falling of fluffy wads of snowflakes,
Softly caressing the earth.
And the grass freezing
With the morning dew,
There is a type of comfort
In the slow destruction.

Slow and calm,
Freezing winds rush through the air,
And the harsh drought upon my skin
Gives way to the slow destruction
That winter brings.

But if I must be destroyed
But gentle cold
Compared to stinging heat,
Then watching the snow drift
Down from the heavens
Isn't the worst way
To be reborn.

I'm so sick
Of rhyming
And timing
And each time I would flinch,
As you got closer
Inch
By
Inch.

Hashtag!
Maybe he didn't hit you,
But he didn't care that someone else did.

Hashtag!
Maybe he didn't hit you
But he left you in the street,
With nothing but the clothes on your back,
And the shoes on your feet!

And I have
Nothing to say to you,
Except that I hope divine intervention
Comes through.

You are the monster
You were always scared to be,
Because while you were off falling for other girls,
You were damaging me.

But I am whole,
Gladly without you.
Cut off the infection,
Let myself grow new.

Hashtag!
He didn't hit me,
But his words and stance
Could have destroyed me.

I'm so sick,
Of rhyming
And timing,
And each time I would flinch,
The closer you got,
Inch by inch.

You're a monster,
But I don't believe in you,
You're a disease,
But darling, I'm immune.

Sometimes I almost remember
A small village of mostly sheep farms,
And little shops that are run out of people's homes.

And I almost remember
A forest I've been to a thousand times.
And sometimes the leaves are new.
And sometimes sharp icicles reflect light into my eyes.

And I see him.
And there's something about his eyes.
I recognize them.
They're just like mine.

Because something inside him is sad and dark and broken and bleeding.

And you can see it right through his eyes,
Almost.

But there's still a fire in his eyes.
A light.
Something that wasn't supposed to be
A permanent solution
But it stitched up the wound,
And he hasn't tried to do anything else for it since.

But my favorite almost-memory
About this place,
Is the little yellow house
With black shutters
And a second floor veranda,
On the top of a grassy green hill.
The house smells like black tea
And fresh apple pie.

I can almost remember.

But then I don't.

Some people are made to break.
Some people are made to last.

Some people are made out of brittle malachite,
And soft, aluminum filigree.

Others are made from obsidian and jade,
Carved agate cameos for hearts.

But you,
You're made from the most refined lapis,
Crystal clear sapphire of all colors,
With steel and platinum filigree and carvings.
Your heart is warm and soft,
Mainly because it's made up of
Constellations and gold.
And your walls are made out of
Steel and platinum, the same. It drizzles and mists too often behind them.
Your eyes take from your heart,
That very same gold struggling to show
Behind waves of blue skies
That yearn to gloss over the fog
Behind those steel and platinum walls.

But I've found a disparity in your defenses,
A sliver of a crack, that's not too big, but enough so that
I may wriggle through.

And despite my attempts,
Successful or otherwise,
To break down your walls,
When I lay before you,
Naked and vulnerable,
It is not steel nor stone I feel against the pale nervousness of my skin.
Instead, I feel the warmth of constellations, and the curious softness of gold.

Your touch is made up of galaxies,
And so I must ask,
Make me your universe.

Take the knife
That they dug into my spine,
And pull it out.

Pull it out.

And take the knife
That they dug into my spine,
And plunge that knife
Into my stomach.

That's what love feels like.

It feels like asking someone
To plunge a knife into your stomach,
Only the knife isn't for stabbing,
It's for cutting out the infection
That everyone else left inside you.

So take the knife out of my stomach,
And stitch me back up
With thread and glue,
Dab at the wound with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide,
And I'll writhe in pain,
Until the aching and the itching subsides.

Didn't you know?
Didn't you hear?

Love is a risk for anybody.

It's all about who you're willing
To jump that cliff for.

And whether or not
You fall
Or you fly.

Close your eyes.

It doesn't hurt at all, I promise.

If you get scared, you can squeeze my hand. I don't mind.

I know it looks bad, but it's okay. It's all okay.

You don't need to be afraid.

I promise.

But when I open my eyes,
I find rather quickly
That there's no one else here.
I was talking to myself.
Reassuring myself.

The room is blank.
Grey.
The light that comes from
The only window
Is dull and grey.
Overcast.

It's the only thing that's comforting here.

It's too quiet. Too empty.
Too hollow.

The silence is deafening.
My chest feels heavy.

If I close my eyes,
For a second,
I can remember another place.
A place with color.
A place with you.

For a second,
I can imagine it.
I can pretend I'm there.

I can almost feel you there,
For a second.

But it doesn't last nearly long enough,
And then you're gone.

The problem is,
This room doesn't exist.
It's a metaphor.

Because the moments in time that I feel (almost) normal,
Where I am (almost) passing for neurotypical,
That's when I see you.
I'm there.
I can almost reach you,
Touch you.
I can almost be like you.
I can almost...
Almost.

I can only ever almost.
And almost has never been enough.

And I can tap my hands against yours,
Or rub my scars,
Or hold my doll closer to me,
Or bounce up and down,
But all the stimming in the world
Won't keep me calm forever
And it won't make me better.

And I just want to be better.
I don't want to be sick.
I'm so sick of being sick.

I've tried accepting it all as part of me.
As it being me.

But I can't.

Because I see the way you look at me.
It's the same way everyone looks at me
When they think I don't notice.
I know that look.
It's the same look that teachers gice their students when they just can't help them with their problem.
The only good thing as that you don't
Use the voice that everyone else does.
I know that voice, too.
It's the same voice people use when talking to a scared animal that might become hostile.

I am not an animal.

I am not a lost cause!

But I see the way you look at me.
I know that look.
Everyone gives me that look,
Once they figure it out.

I am not an animal,
I am not a lost cause.
At least,
That's what I keep trying to tell myself.

But I don't even believe it anymore.

I want to be better.
I want to be better,
But I don't think I can be the better
You want me to be.

The funny thing about crying yourself to sleep
Is waking up confused
Because you don't recognize
The reality of your parents room,
From the delusion of your nightmare.

And the funny thing about lying awake at night,
Blasting music as loud as you can,
And trying to make your breathing
Inaudible
But each breath is
More strained than the last,
Is when you think back with a
"I never thought this is how my life would turn out."

And the funny thing about recalling
Making lunch in the kitchen,
And suddenly choking back
Strangled sobs
After realizing I love you.
And my mom rushing into the kitchen,
Asking me what's wrong,
And I cried so hard
Because I was so scared
To love you.
Is that it wasn't about you,
It was about the fear that you could
Now have the power
To take all my vulnerable parts
And leave without giving them back to me.

And the funny thing about
While blotting at my eyes,
That every part of me
Is wholly and entirely yours,
And upon that I also found,
Is that maybe no part of me
Was ever mine and mine alone.

But the funny thing is, you have proven
Time and time again
Within all my efforts
Amidst anxiety and panic
To subconsciously push you away,
That you're here,
Truly here,
To stay.

The funny thing about crying,
Is that it's not always about the tears,
And the incoherent hiccups
Aren't always about pain.

The funny thing about being this emotional,
Is that you love with all you are,
And when someone finally loves you back
The same way,
It's like seeing the face of God,
As Victor Hugo once said.

The funny thing about forgiveness,
Is that it doesn't always have to come from the
Person you've done wrong.
The funny thing about love
Is that it feels a lot like forgiveness
And the grace of light.

The funny thing about life,
Is that it never turns out how you thought it would,
And that's good.

The funny thing is
I really think
I like how
My life is turning
Out.

That buzzing excitement
Before you come home.

And your hands
Holding mine
Is the only home I need.

I need your voice,
Your laugh,
Your presence.

Don't you see it?
It could be so easy,
So obviously
Portrayed.
You're everything,
Even the air I breathe.

No one ever said
Loving someone was supposed to be
Easy
But you make it so
Natural
Like you're all I've been needing
All that's been missing
Like you're all I needed
To keep going
And accomplish
What I need to.

You're the voice that steadies me,
The touch that grounds me,
And the only home
I've ever wanted to know.

There's nowhere
I need to go,
But I'd go anywhere
If it meant being by your side.

Wherever you are
Is home.

Just get by,
Just keep going.
Just get somewhere
Where the pain is a little less.

But I have a new dream,
New hopes,
New ambitions.

You are my new dream.

I dream of waking up in your arms,
And giving a flurry of kisses to wake you up.
I dream of foggy "G'morning..."'s,
And warm and fuzzy
Giggling and kissing
And my fingers
Laced between yours,
As we wake up fully.

I dream of making you breakfast,
Because I'm actually awake enough.
And I dream of packing a lunch for you,
With leftovers from the night before.
And I dream of making you dinner,
And splitting the duties of clean up.

I dream of nights falling asleep on the couch,
Because we binge watched some anime or superhero show
On Netflix
A little too long.

I dream of water pistol fights
In the kitchen.
And nerf gun wars
Through out the house.

I dream of our first child,
And I dream of waking up at 1 am,
And figuring out whose turn it is
To soothe the baby's cries.

And I dream of long nights
And rain storms,
And dealing with toil and tribulations,
And fights that are sure to come,
That end in heavy sighs
And my resting my head on  your shoulder,
Shouldering off tears,
That you wipe away,
And dual apologies
That are sure to bring some kind of
Stupid joke,
That will catch us off guard
And make the both of us
Laugh.

I dream of a life.
Happy and full,
Something to be proud of,
However simple,
However honest.

You are my dream.

And I'm small when I whisper,
"I just feel like
I'm sitting out in a rain storm,
Holding an umbrella over a little fire
To keep the world from blowing it out,
And so far I'm succeeding,
But they're trying so very hard,
And I just don't know why
They want to blow out my my fire?
All it does is make the dark of the storm,
A little brighter."

And the little flicker of hope in my heart
Responds so brightly,
I almost forget about my fire.
"Because," She says, "You're strong enough to handle it."
"And if the worlds adds more shrapnel to your pyre,
You will have to burn all the brighter."

So I'll sit out in the rainstorm,
With an umbrella and a cold,
Protecting this little fire,
And I think I'll be okay.

My father used to pour me
Blood from the steak he was cooking
So that way I'd grow up strong,
And I'd grow up passionate.
He regrets it, I know it.

My mother used to
Fill up pouches made of lambskin
With wilted flowers and salt
And paint angels on them
And hang them from my doorknob.
It was for protection but I don't quite understand it.

I'd write about what my older brother
Used to do,
But I'm just not in the mood
To cry.

My little brothers used to
Hold onto the hem of my dress
When something scared them.
They used to come to me
When they were sad,
And sleep on my shoulder
When they were young
And tired.

I used to
Keep rocks from the playground
In a hat box
Under my bunk bed,
Along with letters I never sent.

And I used to have so many stuffed cats and dogs and lions
That all had specific names
And stories
And when I moved time and time again
And when I was scared and alone,
They were the closest things I had to friends.

I used to know
What it was like
To be alone.
I used to be
Okay with living and dying
Without being known.

And I would rather,
Sit in silence with someone I love,
Than sit alone with the noise in my head,
Replaying every horrific and terrible memory
From the last ten years.

And sometimes I think about
How people miss being kids,
And how things were so much "easier" then.
But it wasn't that way for me.
Being an adult is hard.
But while I'll never really grow up,
Growing older is the best thing
I've ever done for myself.

And I wonder if you ever looked back
At the broken, little listless thing I was,
And saw something off, something wrong.
But I still doubt anyone puts that much thought
Into things like that.

All I can say is that I'm thankful
For you and your kindness,
And for the love that you've shown me.

I am glad I have seen
And been through
What I have,
It has made me who I am,
And it has made me the woman
That you love.

I used to think that blue eyes were pretentious. I used to think that everyone with blue eyes somehow thought they were better than plain old me, with brown eyes and brown hair.

Shallow, right?

And then I met you, and for some reason, blue eyes were much less pretentious, and blue became my favorite color. Blue felt like home when mine was breaking. Blue felt like home when I didn't have one.

Hopeless, right?

But I've always been shy, and when I went through a phase of questioning myself and who I was, I didn't dare risk reaching out to you, out of fear you wouldn't really care. I ended up in a lot of bad situations, all of which I survived. I have the scars to prove it.

Foolish, right?

And I guess, in a vulnerable state in which I was afraid to be alone, I made another bad decision, and this decision was, just like before, a person. He brought out the worst in me, and I him. I thought his blue eyes could be a nice home too. Not the same way yours were. The way a desperate person takes shelter in a storm. But he was the storm, and I was collateral damage. I guess I thought I could make a home out of shrapnel.

Naïve, right?

I used to believe in meant to be. I used to believe in destiny, and true love, and red strings of fate. I stopped believing in that, for awhile. I went on various dates, with men who were nice and friendly. But upon telling them I couldn't go on dates with them anymore, because I wasn't ready to be with anyone, in any capacity, they stopped talking to me. It was foolish of me to think I was more than a chance at getting laid to them.

Gross, right?

And then we started talking again. And honestly, I didn't trust you at first. I wanted to, but I was scared. But when we met in person again, for the first time in seven years, I, slowly, started to believe again. And when you weren't paying attention, I'd steal glances at you, and even though I'd written off blue eyes, seeing the noon-sky and golden-sun within your iris's was almost too much. I felt at home, once more. And whether that was platonic or not didn't really matter. Because when you hugged me goodbye after I asked, I realized I loved you. And maybe I'd never really stopped.

Romantic, right?

I used to think blue eyes were overrated. I used to think I wasn't meant to be with anyone. I used to not believe in true love. It's funny, because now we've been married since November. And now I can't imagine going a day without watching the smile on your lips touch your eyes. And now I can't imagine being with anyone else. And maybe fate isn't a thing. And maybe neither is destiny. And maybe there are no red strings of fate. But I know true love is real, because I love you more than I've loved anyone else, of any kind of love. And you're the person I'm going to love forever, the person I have loved forever.

But now I do believe that fate only brings us to do the things we would do anyway.

Because if I had to choose between fate and loving you, then I guess I don't have any guidance besides the blue of your eyes.

Corny, right?

It's been a pretty long while, huh?

I don't know how long it's been since either of us have checked in here.

And I don't know how long it's going be until you check back in again. I'll probably pick up writing again, though, probably very soon.

You and the guys are talking about King's and how most of them had women on the side other than their wives (something I just overheard)

I've heard you complain
All night
About wanting another girl
When you slipped a ring onto my finger.

I heard you thank them for cheering you up,
When you told me nothing was wrong.
I'm so glad they cheered you up.
I'm so glad someone finally cheered you up.

Life is short,
But
Hope is violent.

It makes you think,
It makes you see.
It gives you the ability
To move forward.
Motive to keep going.

Life is short,
But
Love is brutal.
True love is kind,
And patient,
And doesn't begrudge you.
True love is honest, whether it hurts or not.

Life is short
But
Laughing is painful.
You smile for too long
And your cheeks start to hurt
And you laugh too hard
And your abdomen starts to ache.


Life is short,
But
Aren't all fun things?

I am a sort of
All or nothing
Type of person.

Either everything and all of me
Goes into everything and all of it
Or none of me does.

I do not
Sort of love people.
I either love them with all that I am and can be
Or I couldn't care less about their existence.

I never claimed it was healthy,
I never claimed it was good,
But it is me
It is all that I am.

So sit across from me
At a glass table,
Have your cards fanned out
Like bird feathers,
Covering your face,
So I cannot read your eyes,
Or see your cards in the light that burns in them.

Stoic and blank,
You draw every card
And I don't know what you have on the table,
But the only reason I look so concerned-- Well,
It has nothing to do with the cards in my hand,
I have no tricks up my sleeve.

It has everything to do
With the fact
That everything is on the table,
And I'm trusting that if I were
To draw your cards
And mine
From a Tarot deck,
That maybe our predictions
Would be the same.

I've never been good,
At card games.
Can't shuffle to save my life,
Can't read palms,
I see too many colors
To make out the lines
In that elegant manner
That you're supposed to have.

I can't read tea leaves,
They just look like faces to me.

But I'm taking a risk,
I'm taking the chance,
It's really all or nothing.

And just maybe
Instead of risking it all
And coming out with nothing,
This time I'll have something
Just something
To win.

I am an
All or nothing
Type of person.

Take my heart
Take my words
Take my memories,
And heed only these warnings:
Handle with care!
Know you will never forget what you've learned.