Happiness and love; two emotions that you allow me feel,
And by tending to our flower, your true feelings will show and I will believe it to be real.
I wish not to ***** you with the thorns that envelop and protect it and me,
Because you are sweeter than the precious nectar that is created by a honey bee.

The petals of our flower will burst into bloom with sunshine and rain,
But we must remember to protect it dearly, through harsh weather and life’s pain.
We are two gardeners, working together to nourish and cherish this beautiful flora,
And have to remind ourselves to stop and enjoy the magnificence that is within its aura.

Do not rush, for it takes many moons for our flower to grow,
We must give it the nutrients it needs, even through the soil down below.
Its roots are intricate, and like a heart’s arteries, it pumps to sustain,
With life-long willingness and genuine curiosity to  be a part of this world, again and again.

I hope that you continue expressing admiration for the grace and beauty in our rose,
For it feels blessed to have your support and adores every part of you, from your head to your toe.
Push past society’s views on beauty and what it means to love someone,
You and I define those things ourselves, it is not dictated by just anyone.

Let us continue to encourage our flower to grow and blossom,
I know that, just like you, it will be amazing and awesome!

I have been here before, and with this same pen, I express myself through words.
To better understand myself, and to avoid being misunderstood.

Some call it bewitched, but I call it love.
There is an emptiness in the freedom of being alone,
And liberty in being caught in that divine spell.

The day that I stop writing love poetry is the day that my pen's ink will run out,
Along with my sense of connection to humanity.

Love is hard, and so difficult to describe,
Too complex to express simply by stringing words together.
Yet here I am, trying over and over,  
Always feeling limited, unfulfilled, unsatisfied.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, I am comforted by love's familiarity,
Its pleasant tenderness, shining like rays of sun, enveloping me in warmth and sincerity.
Its floral fragrance in the form of beautiful golden sunflowers,
Bundled with red ribbon at the stems, followed by conversations that go on for hours.
Its sweet taste in the form of kisses, followed by more and more and more, all over my cheeks and face,
Until there is not a spot that his lips have not touched, and then I point lower, to a different space.
I want more but I am too timid to say,
But my flushed cheeks and smile gives it away anyway.

But, I've also been here before, reminiscing on this familiarity,
I am then reminded of the heartache that follows, and I get a sense of polarity.
The shattered promises of forever, and the final goodbyes,
The returning of sweaters that smell like him while holding back desperate cries.
The empty and cold interactions as he shuts the door behind him,
The sinking loneliness as I stand in the room that is now increasingly dim.
The racking sobs as my heart begs me to stop doing this to myself,
So, I take the thought of love, lock it in a box, and put it high on a shelf.


But, I have been here before, knowing that I cannot stop,
Love is embedded deep inside of me, it is not something I can just drop.
My heart knows how capable I am to feel such raw emotions,
It flows gracefully through me, and soars with plummeting waves like the ocean.
My heart demands to spark a flame in the one who ignited such feelings inside of me,
It longs and yearns to douse them with love and unwavering loyalty.
It demands to be expressed, through every form of self-expression that I use,
Whether that is poetry, painting, music, whatever outlet I choose to let loose.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, trying to express my feeling of love.
It is difficult and frustrating, and most attempts are ripped apart and disposed of.
I have been trying to describe love for years, and still feel unsatisfied,
The countless filled notebooks are evidence of all the times that I have tried.
I cannot find how to put it simply but in a beautiful way,
I write about it for hours and hours, from night until day.
I want to be cherished for not only who I am, but who I was, and how I came to be,
So instead of writing about love, I will write about how to better love me.

I have not been here before, so I will take it slow,
If it helps you better understand me, please let me know.
This is for you, if you want to love me,
It is complex and it may not come immediately.
Please understand that it will take time,
For you to love me the way that I need, this is not just a rhyme.
This is new to me, I have not been here before,
If it makes you see the real me, for you I will write more.
I have not been here before, but I am still using the same pen,
If you follow my trail of disorganized thinking, please nod every now and then.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am honest, and I will never lie.
I want you to be my best friend before being my guy.
I want to build a sense of familiarity -- to know about you and your life.
I want consistency, continuous communication, so we can avoid all strife.
I want passion and longing, the magnetic pull between our lips and bodies until they unify.
I want "I love you"s to be meaningful, not fillers to be thrown in when our conversation dies.

He must know that the "he" in this story, could also be a she.
My ability to love isn't limited by appearances that fade with time, life’s bittersweet guarantee.
He must know my personality, my strengths, goals, hopes, and dreams,
And when we fight, he must remember that we are not on opposing teams.
He must know how to support me and my life goals, how to motivate me,
When the coldness of the world frightens me, and I search for ways to escape reality.
He must want the best for me, for me to be happy, even if that is not by his side,
If we realize that we are not compatible, or our relationship makes us feel unsatisfied.
He must know my weaknesses, my flaws.
My tendency to push away when I am overwhelmed, and how to find the probable cause.
He must know that though I love to care for others, I am not great at caring for my own body.
My self-destructive nature has a story of its own, and it is not shared with everybody.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to help him understand me,
I have been fighting my demons for a long time, and I can't remove the shackles that would set me free.
He feels a need to fix me, as if I were a broken wine glass,
I tell him to mind his footing, bringing attention to the pieces he should avoid and overpass.
He thinks that sweet words could be the glue to adhere my shards together,
And praises the curvature of my body, accentuated by a jacket made of leather.
He believes that he could love me more than anyone else has, and by doing so, he would mend me,
I quietly sigh, close my eyes, and slowly count to three.

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to make him see,
My broken pieces are not mean to be picked up by fragile hands, nor by anybody.
He learns this when the sharp sting of glass runs along the tips of his digits,
He realizes that the scars on my fingers were from all the attempts I made when I felt brave and ambitious.
Trust me, I have been there before -- I know how much it hurts, I do not want you to share my pain,
I know that I am a sad girl, but still some happiness remains.
I want to embrace this darkness, my ability to feel emotions so immense,
My dear, there is no need to put your fists up in defense.

I have been here before, and I watch him try to fit the pieces together,
But they are sharp, merciless, and weigh much more than a feather.
They are not a puzzle, they do not even fit me anymore,
But he becomes increasingly frustrated, exclaiming that this is more than he asked for.
I try to make him understand that they do not define me,
I only want them to be a visual for my story, I do not need them to be complete, nor to feel free.
I want him to see my past and my struggles, laid on the table,
Only then he will know how intricately strong the roots are that ground me and keep me stable.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and I don't feel like rhyming anymore,
It took me a long time to understand myself and what I stand for.

The shattered pieces that lay before him are all of the times I've lost a piece of myself;
The innocence that I clung to for so long and had to drop in order to survive and adapt.
The ideologies of supportive families, shattered by abusive alcoholics that no one questioned.
The expectations of loving and supportive friends, broken by betrayal and abandonment.
The life that I once knew, had to leave behind, and the shock that crackled my perspective and forever changed me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try to reassure him,
But he is drowning in my sorrows and has forgotten how to swim.
He feels a need to scare away my demons, and cure what plagues my mind,
He becomes frightened by my pain and wants to protect me, so he covers my eyes.
But my self-destructive nature was never his job to correct,
I try to help him understand that I am grateful, I never meant any disrespect.

I have been here before, and with the same pen, I try prove that I am his equal and that we are the same,
I am not expecting him to be anything more than he is, I am not a helpless dame.
But he feels that it is his duty as a man to complete me, to support me, to give me a reason to smile.
I put down my pen, and and stare into his eyes for a while.

Though I may be broken, I am complete on my own.
The only support I want is holding hands as we walk side by side, not in the form of you carrying me.
Our world is beautiful enough to make me smile, I only want to enjoy it alongside you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

But, I have been here before, and I have been through all that.
For 24 years actually, so that makes me stronger than you.
I am better equipped and more than capable to deal with certain things on my own,
These pieces are not even a part of me anymore.
My demons do not need to be slain by a knight in shining armor, because they are more afraid of me.
They know what I've overcome, and know that I will not take **** from anybody.

I've been here before, and with the same pen, I acknowledge my strength,
I've rebuilt the walls of my wine glass exterior with precise width and length.
I designed them using the knowledge that I have gained from my hardships and where I went wrong,
I shaped and molded them with the experiences that have taught me how to be strong.
And I placed seeds that blossomed when nourished by my own self-determination,
I spent many years adding to my durable and unbreakable flooring and foundation.
I painted the walls crimson red, and hung golden accents on the ceiling,
And laid mats to meditate on when I am hurting and need healing.

I have been here before, and I've created this for myself,
I will invite you in, if you'd like to see it for yourself.
I am strong, I am intelligent, and I hope to be more brave,
But I am a lover and a fighter, so please don't think that I need to be saved.
I want to share this beautiful experience of life with you,
But it is not a journey that you have to carry me through.
We will put on comfortable shoes and make our way together,
And we'll prepare for obstacles, challenges, and unpleasant weather.

I have been here before, and I see that look in his eyes,
The corners of his lips curl down and he feels the need to apologize.
I don't need an apology, or for you to change who you are,
Let's enjoy our time together and have a cigar.
The universe granted us to exist alongside each other, and we have crossed paths for a reason,
So please enjoy the warm weather with me this season.
There are so many beautiful sights out there,
I don't care what we do, or where we go, we can go to Times Square!
As long as I'm by your side, and you love me,
In the most pure, raw, and passionate form, it would make me so happy.
Put on the other headphone in and listen to this song,
I think now that you understand how to better love me, you can do no wrong.
I put my pen down as we listen along,
I dedicate a playlist to him, filled with love songs.

I have been here before, and even though my pen is down,
It seems that I cannot and will not stop expressing love.

Trying to fall asleep in a room whose windows I can’t open
My legs are tickling with jolts of energy that I’m too tired to put to good use
Or use at all
I’m this room, I waste so many days
Wishing, wondering, longing, yearning for better things
But I’m getting too familiar with this feeling of unsatisfactory living  
The disappointing drop in my stomach of what could’ve been is just getting old now  
It’s making me mad, how did I let it get this bad?  
I’m tired of it, it’s exhausting my drive for life, or for anything really
It’s all I’ve ever known, it’s the only forever that I’m used to
But it’s okay,
“I’m just tired.”

It doesn’t matter what they all say
“You’re beautiful the way you are”  
If I don’t feel it myself, there is no point
My body is supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of love and care
But the only thing that I’ve done is slice the walls that holds it together
Feed it what it craves instead of what it needs
Force it to endure emptiness, refusing to give it its necessities
As if that would make anything better
But I swear when I look the way I want to look, I’ll feel so much better
If I don’t feel beautiful, your words mean nothing to me
But it’s okay,
“I’m just tired.”

It’s true, I’m tired to my bones
My mind has been exhausted of feeling this way from long ago
I am 22, but I don’t feel nor look it
I have skin that sags, lines that are wrinkled, and features that I shouldn’t have to worry about
At such a youthful, fruitful age
I’m supposed to be at my prime, I’m supposed to feel free
But I’ve never felt so caged, so afraid to be me
Afraid to step into the spotlight and show myself to everyone I meet
Because maybe there’s a love handle that’s hanging out of my jeans
I don’t need encouragement, I don’t need positivity, I don’t need you to tell me I’m pretty
I need money and independence and drive
That I can’t seem to get because
“I’m just so tired.”

There is nothing more
            that I wish
                        than to not
                                    feel like this.


The frustrations and sorrows
That fill me to the brim
Overwhelm me, eventually engulfing
My inner-self and my will

That always come second
To the weapon of my choosing
Now becoming dull
As I continue this self-abusing

In this battle versus the world,
I'm the one that's losing
Not the demons that found shelter inside of me
That kick their feet up
While they're cruising

But my gentle nature
Seemed to welcome them with open arms
Please help me,
When will I know when to sound the alarms?

What if I'm not meant to be
The hero in my own story?
I was never one to boast,
Or seek any type of glory

I just hoped to be a good girl
With graceful sensuality
But all society ever seems to worry about is
Finishing your ******* degree

My soul is hurting,
Can you see that I'm aching
In places that his hands explored
But weren't his for the taking?

I can't see clearly,
And my voice keeps breaking
I'm holding my own mouth
Because my lips won't stop shaking

It's affecting my breathing, my chest hurts
It's all heartbreaking
Especially seeing yourself lose
White flag waving above you

The darkness now overtaking

"Stop looking at her in phases,
You must understand she is always full.

Even on nights when she hides
in plain sight you must not be
afraid to acknowledge her
darkness."

"So you loved her and I loved you
As tragic love songs go
With her as the sun and I as the moon
With me in the background
As she made you swoon
While I had my heart break
And she had hers glow
I tasted my sorrow
And drowned in my woes
But I get why you picked her
I now understand
For reasons I know that I can't reprimand
For I'd also pick diamonds
With beauty so grand
Over something so
Boring and plain as the sand"

Wolf drooled at the sight of Lamb.

His hungry eyes explored her from head to toe;
Her ivory form laid still in the hazy meadow
as she watched fireflies flicker deep amber,
illuminating their way around tall, wet blades of grass
still wet from the dew that welcomed dawn.
With rays of sugary light accentuating
the thick covering of wool that surrounded her,
the frosted innocence that laid before him
appeared to be painted
by a celestial hand.

His damp nose sniffed the air;
Her sweet scent filled his nostrils and entered his lungs,
and with a forceful exhale out of his nostrils,
Wolf could feel his mouth salivating with famine and longing.
The aroma of her alluring nature hypnotized
the predator until he found himself sniffing the air
just to become increasingly intoxicated by
her pure and
pearly essence.

His mouth dribbled long strands of thick drool;
Her delicate warmth and supple flesh felt almost real between
his sharpened canines that could easily ravage such a dainty being.
Wolf licked at his starved mouth in hopes of hushing it patient,
but only became eager to taste her, to ravage her, to devour her
until the only feeling that would matter is the throbbing pulsations
of her jugular
against his teeth.


Lamb reveled in Wolf's desirous longing from afar
and mischievously teased his itching fervor for her
before disappearing into the thick mist
that completely masked her
gentle existence.