jump back
bruised eyelids
blooming purple flowers underneath pale
skin
bare skin
veins scratching towards
the surface
clawing
and clawing
to get out,
to bleed
just slice the razor
beneath your thigh
let the blood lie
let it lie

If I could go back
I'd erase those silly arguments we had.
The ones where both of us were right
And neither of us wrong.

If I could go back
I'd buy you more flowers just because
I know how much a single rose
Illuminates your soul.

If I could go back
I'd take you to the beach a lot.
Knowing that your shine would fight
The Sun's rays. And win.

If I could go back
I'd make you smile again
Because your beauty protruded
Through both corners of your lips.

If I could go back
I'd memorize each and every word
You said to me as you walked away.
A token of your memory.

If I could go back.
But I can't go back.
So I'll choose to forget former incidents
And focus on future hazards.

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

what they didn't tell me
was that bad boys
are not boys with scars
that have no stories.

they are not boys
with split bones,
stretched shadows,
black irises, and blacker bruises.

bad boys are the ones who
stitch together their words,
silk spider webs,
wrapping you up,
just like he did in his arms.

they are not boys who hide their faces,
and spill smoke from thin lips.

bad boys are the ones who
fill your hungry cries
with red wine and black waters,
dragging you down,
just like he did with his words.

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

but I did.

I floss
but the words
still get in my teeth.

Every night
When we're whispering in bed
You get sleepy
And ask if I don't mind you drifting off
And I know you'd stay up if I said I did

And every night
When I say I don't mind
You say goodnight
And call me your prince
Then I say sweet dreams and hold your hand

Every morning
I wake up
Kiss your head and make you coffee
And you wake up to me saying "I love you"
Then you drag me into the kitchen where we make breakfast

And every morning
I make a mess of our ingredients
Because I'm distracted by your eyes and I'm a terrible cook
And you laugh at me, then burn the scrambled eggs
And I still love you anyway

Even though the eggs are my favorite

People over romanticize things like
Sylvia Plath's
suicide in the oven
or stars
or love.
Stars are just big
flaming messes
that burn and care
for nothing else.
and so is love.

Darling my darling
i sometimes think of writing a letter to
you everyday
even though you are never far away
i sometimes still dream of him
but no matter,
this heart is yours.
remember when we first met?
a chilly winter night,
visiting the Petco cats
and playing nintendo
while your record player spinned.
Seems surreal now.
like that time
you laid yourself as a
blanket over me
and we watched outer space
on dewy grass
with hands clasped.
you spilled your secrets to me,
whispered them into my hair,
where they nestled and found warm dark
comfort there.
your lips
oh your lips
how not even the gods could forget
such two perfect
bows that tremble,
opening gently over mine.
somehow you breathed life into me
and that was the end to my
sad
ghost story.
so
darling
my darling
thank you
for unlocking something inside
of me
something that never stops
singing.

i was lying on the street
with cracked ribs and cold feet
never thought i'd had it in me.
heights, never really my thing
but not as terrified as people think
it was a peculiar notion
to see if i could fly
like so many birds before me
but here
with this stinging sensation
coursing through every inch of my frame
i realized
quite quickly
that my wings had
been broken.