Today will not be the same as yesterday as much as you'd like it to be
I finally learnt to remember the image of deserts etched across your knee
Yearning is a cheat; it weaves into clocks and watches pretending to be time
And I know that when it comes to us coincidence might resign

You let the city in your lungs collapse under this emptiness that’s your earthquake
I hope you refuse to smile if it isn't for my sake
I wish for the days to be gone that are you and your concrete frowns
For now I only wish to see you safe and sound
I will caress your white shirt soaked in mud
If you promise to stop jumping off buildings, staining the parapet with your blood

And so we depend on borrowed feelings
Don’t you think that remorse is time worth ticking?
For me, it skims across lined pages
And for you, it settles back into rusted battle cages

Truly, it’s another one of those questions your tongue holds no answer
I am familiar with the way desperation forces you to bite into inked rubber
I've been scratching spirals into wooden floorings
In an effort to take the pain out of waiting

And if you look up, the shadows are holding out their hands
You turn to me, your face contorted in the strain of trying to understand
I cannot bring myself to smile because confusion lies in everyone
They’re whispering your name; they’re pulling us into oblivion

Darling if you were a noise you'd be static sound

You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.

A Poem For Each Of The Boys I’ve Ever Loved

Ⅰ.
sometimes your scent travels in the wind,
suffocating me like a nasty perfume,
leaving me to wonder if i’ll ever forget your smell.

Ⅱ.
you wore the sweatshirt you let me borrow a few days ago
i mean, i don’t even think you remember i had it at all.
it was just another sweatshirt in your drawer.

Ⅲ.
your handwritten notes sit in neat pile next to my bed.
it has occurred to me that maybe thats the cause of my nightmares.
but really i think you’re the reason for everything and anything.

Ⅳ.
you have the prettiest eyes in the whole entire world.
im satisfied knowing i was once the reason they lit up so bright.
I’ll never let someone take the sparkle in my eyes away again.

Ⅴ.
we used to listen to music together and we’d laugh a lot.
you’d snicker at they way i lip sang to myself.
and id laugh because you really didn’t care i was a ******.

ⅤⅠ.

most of my days are spent wishing you were still here
you never really know how much you love someone
until they don’t love you anymore and thats a sick thought.


(ps, each of these poems are about you and only you and always you. i miss you. love always, the pathetic girl with a big heart and green eyes.)

I wanted to be a poet, so I folded myself into an envelope addressed to the moon and asked the man what he thought about your sweaty palms after our first kiss. He was quiet for a minute or so before he asked me, "do you love him?" I gulped. As if my gulp was enough for him, he went silent. He didn't ask questions, names or numbers. He didn't give advice that made me wish I hadn't spoken at all. We just stood there for a very long time and he finally broke what was such a loud silence with a sentence you may never understand. He said, "you're not a Poet, you're a Lover."