I'm an old soul,
in a valley of new-aged minds.

I hide behind long tresses of dark, curly hair,
and a mind-blowing swirl of brown, green, and grey eyes.

I listen to classic rock,
and steal liquor from my mom.

I hate society,
And I am that crazy, political, hipster chick.

I like vintage things, meaningless things,
and even very broken things.

I love clothes that are to big for me,
and can only drink milk if it's in a mug.

I like the kind of weather that flushes your cheeks,
And causes you to pull your jacket on tighter.

I like these things because they are what they are,
and they make me who I am.

His eyes fluctuate between
the most glorious color of cyan,
and moss green.

The colors battle to be dominant,
but only end up creating the most
vivid orbs I've ever seen.

They say eyes are the key to the soul,
but his eyes,
are the key to my heart.

I've described this feeling with big words,
and analogies,
I've tried using stories,
even tragedies,
but love cannot simply be expressed,
because love does not have a single definition.

As his warm hand met mine,
we sparked a fire to keep warm.
That fire gasped for air,
and grew twice in size,
until it consumed our hearts,
and our minds.

We were no longer a spark,
but instead a colossal wildfire.

Momma always told me fairytales had happy endings.
Well, she was wrong
I'm not beauty, I'm the beast.

I gave you my heart,
and you treated it like it was just another *****.

Now I'm empty,
and you could care less.