I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

I'm tired.
Tired of everything.
I just want to sleep,
And never wake up again.

No, I'm not lazy,
I'm not running away from life.
I'm just tired of the world and myself,
And too tired to change anything.

If this is love,
I want no part in it.
The
         b
            e
               t
                  r
                     a
                        y
                           a
                              l,
                                    the lies,
                                                 the pain,
                                                               the truth.
If this is you,
I want to forget us.
Our
         m
            e
              m
                 o
                     r
                        i
                          e
                             s,
                                 our secrets,
                                                   our trust,
                                                                  our imperfections.

                          will i be able              to love again?
                      if                       i can,                   will
                       i                         be                     able
                        to                                              see
                         when                                       the
                           end                                       is
                              coming?                          if
                                   you                     were
                                      like             this,
                                          will     he
                                                 be
                                           like      you
                                     too?                if
                                 our                       love
                             went                            down
                           this                                    fast,
                        will                                          my
                      next                                             one
                      be                        the                    same?
                         if                    this is                how
                               all love is,           is any of it

                                             true love?

my home
is not
the room
where i sleep
fitfully.
or the house,
broken memories
and walls
the color
of
****.

my home
is the
off-key
singing
with my sister
in her car.
the buttered popcorn
from the movie theater
that we ate together,
her and my brother and i.
the spring air
as we ran with her dog.
the monotone
of teachers droning on,
the bright laughter
of my friends.

home is made
of the little
bits of joy
that
we’ve left
scattered
behind
us.

I want to be your favorite book
I want you to write on my pages
and underline the passages
you loved the most.
I want to be that song you listen to
when you’re angry
and just wanting to calm down.
I want to be that show you can’t stop watching and can’t stop talking about with your friends.
I want to be those long walks at the beach where you love watching 44 sunsets.
I want to be your favorite mixed drink
that you can’t get enough of.
I want to be the bad hangovers that you don’t regret having.
I want to be the pain that’s worth it.
I want to be your newly washed sheets that you bury your face in.
I want to be your crazy Friday nights
but also your lazy Sunday afternoons.
I want to be your favorite liar,
your favorite scar.
That one wound you wouldn’t want to heal.
I want to be that loud music
you always dance to.
I want to be the words that you mean to say when you say them.
I want to be your bitter coffee
in the mornings.
I want to be the one to wake you up
and make sure you’re ready to face life again.
I want to be your favorite love story that you keep telling yourself.
I want to be your cozy rainy days and lonely summer nights.
I want to be all the times you said yes to something you never tried before.
I want to be your nervous laughter, your crooked smile.
I want to be the corny puns you tell.
I want to be your favorite film.
I want to be that urge that’ll make you want to make a film or write a poem or skydive.
I want to be your guiding light and your comfortable darkness.
I want to be your hope,
your sorrows,
your bad dreams,
your goals,
your nightmares,
your fight,
your heartbreaks,
your hate,
your love,

the things that make you
and break you.

I want to make you so happy,
you’d forget you were ever sad.