you will have days where you will feel ugly and won't want to even leave the house. days like this are important because you will leave the house, and maybe in the process you'll learn that appearances aren't nearly as important as you think. one day you will grow old, and it will be okay.
2. some days you will lay in bed and cry for what seems like forever and that's okay as long as you get up after and appreciate the fact that you're happier then than you were ten minutes ago.
3. nobody is perfect and everybody fails at something so try not to be too ******* yourself when you do too because it really truly is not going to make you anything but sadder. try, sincerely, to be as happy as you can possibly be. i love you

You are above me, for the simple fact that you are not me.
I am but a lonely piano player, who resides in the corners
of restaurants and blackened old hearts. You, with

glimmering eyes, and mischievous lips, dance barefoot
against the earth, the arches of your feet covered in free-verse.
I do not approach you; you are above me.

And here is something you may have overlooked
One room’s floor is another room’s
ceiling, and while you sway and dance and live and wander

you are inevitably doing so on my dreams. Burdened and breathless,
I sit and watch you move, up in the stars and the night and the
glow of the moon.

I look up and i see Heaven, you look down and you
see Hell. And as you bow your head to pray, just remember,
you are above me.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

I was not informed that when you fall in love,
you’re supposed to shout ‘This Means War’
at the top of your lungs, and dare the world
to catch up with the soles of your feet. You

ran across plains and through valleys, the
soles of your shoes worn out from stomping
out tiny fires, all started by your temper. I was not

informed that you were permitted to burn down
and pillage villages with your careless acts of
lust. I've learned that the world is not exactly round
however it's magical in the sence that it’s got a

way of putting you right back in the spot you were
trying to escape from. I saw fighter jets and
missiles in your eyes, and felt bombs in your pulse.
I loved you, though. Your lips were the only thing left

of you. But even they swore and spewed anger. I
was not informed that when you fall in love, your
heart is supposed to die. You struck fear in the depth
of my soul...but I forgot:  ‘all is fair in love and war’.

Heart thumping
Face on the desk
We're talking about suicide
And I know what comes next

She tells us not to look
We have to close our eyes
She says it's an anonymous survey
And I wonder if I should lie

Raising our hands is a yes
And everything inside me
Screams no while I
Try to calm my bouncing knee

I raise a tentative hand
When she asks if we've considered suicide
That tentative hand raise is the largest step I've taken
And part of me feels peace deep down inside

We are the girls who walk around with little bird bones,
rib cages ready to snap when we spread our wings and
fly away

and for my next act,
I shall disappear little by little until I am ash.

I’m not eating for four days or until
I can feel the ***** that is my stomach start to shrink

I used to refuse food for weeks
it amazes me how self-indulgent I have become

I am ready to eat spoonfuls of air
spin my hair into a models top knot and
know that water is a privilege not a right

a million screaming girls saying
“but im not hungry”
while a tiger flays their insides open at night

Kate Moss said "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"
and I suppose she is correct
What happens when you learn the tongue is a muscle not to be used

What happens when sustenance is no longer needed
When the mind decides
the very thing that keeps the body alive is a punishment

What happens when you refuse a necessity of being human