I kissed a boy with a fever in hopes that he would burn through my thoughts,
but the flame did not fill the gap between my ribs.
I kissed him, lips chapped, bleeding after.
I kissed a boy hard, to make something there that was not.
The look upon his face was full of adoration until he saw my face,
And for a second he looked into my eyes and I was worried he would see what no one else knew.
But he did not, he only smiled as I walked away, like he was content,
But I was not.
But loneliness burns hotter and meaner than fire.

I don't believe in blooming roses
Or how the moon shines on your face like wax.
I don't believe in shooting stars
Or how dandelions float in the sun like parachutes.
I don't believe in glittering snowflakes,
Or how trees bend when your name is called like dancers.

But I believe in late-night phone calls, where you tell me "Of Course, Of Course, Of Course."
When you grab my wrist gently, and look me in the eyes and say "Okay."
I believe in the silence between us that is louder than a heart shattering like a broken plate.
I believe in endings. They are the only thing that exists.

Your kisses are more intoxicating that wine
That for hours after, for days, for weeks,
I can not think straight.
But it is time I learn to sober up,
and the learn the sweet clear taste of water.

-One case of ******* in too much water and air at the same time
-2 dashes of cold loneliness on the bitterest winter eve where the candles freeze over
-5 tablespoons of the ripest peach on that July day in Georgia where the skies were golden and the juice just oozed and cracked out the fuzz
-1/2 cup of collapsing into soft sheets of a bed already nice and made, presented well as you sink into the goose feathered pillows
-A dozen moments of standing at the edge of highest tower on your tip toes, as your stomach drops from the fear of falling
-4 really good sessions of laughing where you feel as if you will never breathe again, for that is the best kind of laughter and the ripest.
-A pinch of the sweetest bird calls in the world where you cannot help to sing along, just for good measure.
-1 huge smile, the type where you cannot stop it, it is such a gorgeous smile in all its hugeness

Toss into a pan and stir until everything combines creating a deliciously bitter concoction and throw into the oven forever and never let cool.
And that is the perfect recipe for falling in love.

The street is paved with silver
The moon tells me silently to keep still
Not a sound is heard but I can feel the leaves rustle, hushing me
But I make no noise

I have a steady grip on the melody but it is too quiet for me
The street makes no sound, it is just paved in silver
I hear the moon, calling to me
Telling me to hush but I make no noise

The cold tries to swallow me whole,
Wrap me in a taciturn blanket so the world will no longer hear my voice,
My voice that is louder than the sun but not the moon
But I make no noise.

I reach out to a silver petal, trying to grasp it
But it slips through cracks I've never noticed
And as I realize that the little light is fading
I make no noise.

Sometimes my windows leak when it rains,
And my books get ruined.
One time I made pancakes, that fell apart on me.

I asked you if you would like to get some lunch,
But you said the moon wasn't going to come out that day.

I wonder if you ever really listen
When my hammock is being blown away.

This is an absolute true story:
Once upon a time, a girl wore a paper crown upon her head and declared herself queen of the world.
She ran through the forests, quickly, and she knew how to hide from civilization.
She strung lights across the trees for dusk, so the light danced across the sky when she danced and asked for rain.
She was alone and liked it that way, except at cold nights when the wind blew through the leaves and howled louder then she could ever try.
She could hunt, run, skip, leap, climb, and hide. She was good at everything and she quick and cunning that all the foxes began to worship her.
Once she ran into a bear and stood her ground so well that the bear bowed down to her.
But at night, when the owls had stopped making sound, she would cry herself to sleep, and feel an emptiness in her heart.
It was an emptiness in her bones that no cheerful melody of a bird could ring out.
It was an emptiness that no warm rabbit could try to rub out of her skin.
A sorrow, an ache, a longing for something that started with an l, but that even the little silver fish could never give her with little kisses.
And that was how she lived for all her life.