I can't escape the past
And it makes me want to die

Waves crashed onto the deck and when I thought I couldn't be saved, you were the lighthouse at the end of a pier.

Stick and stones may break my bones,
but words cut through toughened skin.

I take you for granted so often
that I weep when I realize
how much you actually care.

Tell me exactly why the **** my love isn't enough for you.
******, haven't I given you everything?
How can you say that you give me everything,
indicating that I give you any less.
I've given you my heart and soul and body.
What more is there to give?
I am enough.
*Enoughenoughenough.

My next girl
Will be nothin' like my ex girl
I made mistakes back then and
I, I'll never do it again

I never meant to look at you this way -- as a muse...
But you're mine.

You inspire me every day.
Your smile alone makes me want to write, to pour my thoughts and feelings and love into a poem like this.

What have you done to me?

I've begun seeing the world differently.
The sun is brighter.
The sky is bluer.
My heart is happier.

I've begun speaking differently.
Words are more articulate.
Sentences are more refined.
My mouth moves with grace.

I've begun acting differently.
Hugs become expected.
Random touches become unconious.
My hands become unforced.

**You've become more than a muse.

You look for love where it is not wanted, hoping you can throw a dart and it will hit the bullseye

Pills and I don't get along.
Yes, there's a reason.
Yes, it's a good reason.
No, I won't swallow.

It's impossible to be happy here.
If this is where standing up for myself gets me, then so be it.
I'm sick of the verbal abuse.
Get
   me
     out
        of
           here.

It's been two days.
Two days and I've already gone mad without you.
I feel so alone, luv.
Every part of me misses you.
My heart aches at the thought of you, yet simultaneously warms.
My ears are finely tuned to your voice, if only I could hear it.  
My palms itch with an unfulfilled need to touch you -- your hand, your hair, your waist...

...I wonder if you miss me, too.

It's sad, really.
I wish I could talk about you like I have fond memories of us.
But everything is laced with arsenic.
There's no warmth in my voice at all.
There are things I can't repeat, sunny summer days I can't picture anymore.
It feels like I spent a whole year in a fog.
*It's sad, really.

The love I have for you is like a pre-tied noose,
just waiting to be tightened around my neck.
My foot hangs from the chair,
the voices in my head saying,
"Give up already".
Oh, I've tried...
I step back onto the chair, which holds the weight of this love.

Your smile slowly kills me.
Her arm around your body hits me like a battering ram.
The love(?) in your eyes makes me sick.
"It's so wrong".
The way I feel
    is
      wrong.
I shouldn't be loving you the way I do.
You shouldn't be my crutch.
You shouldn't be the thing that keeps me alive...
You may become the death of me.

I'm so sorry I can't give my whole self to you. Over time, bits and pieces have been broken off and never returned. I can't give you everything that I want to give. I want to give you my heart, my everything. You deserve so much love. You deserve all of my love. I'll spend the rest of our time together apologizing for reasons you won't know about. Let me. I will write apologies on your lips with mine, on your shoulders with my fingertips, on your heart with my fragile one. There are so many walls, B. I put them up in a matter of days. It wasn't hard, their shadows still showed in the grass. Every time you say you love me, a brick falls. They crash at your feet. Don't let them fall on your toes. Just move them to the side, make a pile and cover them with tarp. I don't want to see them. I don't want to be reminded anymore. All I want is memories with you. Maybe that's why I take so many photos of your smile or screenshots of your texts. I want to remember every single thing. You've given me some of the best memories I've ever had the privilege to remember. You.
I love you. I love you. I love you.

sitting in the hell we call "school"
and my thoughts
start to drift.
I begin to ask myself:

what would your life be like if he hadn't been a part of it?

I break into a sweat.
my hands grow colder,
along with my heart.
I dread the thought.

what if you were never friends?

the thoughts grow worse.
I think about the habits I have,
the things I've picked up from him (and he from me)
over our 16 years together.

what if he died tomorrow?

I'd feel it.
surely I would.
there would be an undeniable ache,
right there in the center of my being.

what if he died and you didn't tell him I love you?

I'd die.
I'd end it all.
what reason would I have to live,
if I didn't have him?

the
      thoughts
                take
                      over.

He traveled downward
and kissed every scar she left.
Reaching the ones I left,
he glanced up.
Leigh... what is this?
I lost my breath.
Inhale, exhale.
Nothing.
He shook his head, disbelieving.
Look at me... What is this?
How do you explain that
your tears are flammable
and that it isn't too painful
to set them ablaze?
Nothing. Please, just kiss me.
So he did.
Again and again and again...
Until all was forgiven,
but not forgotten.

Sometimes
You let your walls crumble
And your age-old
Soul
Is let out of it's confinement

I can't pinpoint the exact moment that music came into my life. It started with my parents, I guess. The radio was always on in our house. I'd watch Mom sway while she cooked or listen to Dad hum while he folded clothes. It was just there. Rod Stewart, ZZ Top, Led Zeppelin, Andrew Llyod Webber, Santana, The Beatles... Everywhere.

What I do remember is the first time music moved through me. I turned the volume dial and felt it jump into my finger tips. It traveled through my bloodstream, finding it's place in my heart. There, the music settled... and  hasn't left since.

I get the question a lot, you know.
"What made you fall so deep into music?". That's the story I tell them. Obviously, not that exact story because they would think me odd for speaking so 'poetically', but close enough. I just tell them it's like the wind --
moving around, in, and through me.

And this guy comes up to me
His face red like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colours of a royal flush
And he's peeling off those dollar bills
Slapping them down
One hundred, two hundred
And I can see those fighter planes
And I can see those fighter planes
Across the mud huts as the children sleep
Through the alleys of a quiet city street
We take the staircase to the first floor
We turn the key and slowly unlock the door
As a man breathes deep into saxophone
And through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside is America
Outside is America
America

How can you see me the way you do?
What do you see?
Is your vision selective?
Is it biased?
*How can you care so much about something so broken?

"Why are you wearing shorts? It's cold out!"

Why?

I enjoy the way the chilled wind feels --
it makes me feel alive.
The way the goosebumps raise on my pale legs reminds me that I'm human...
Sometimes I just need a reminder.

No, you don't understand.
You were not the one
who crawled out of bed
in the middle of the night.
You were not the one
opening the bottle of pills
and cursing when three fell to the floor.
You were not the one
with the repetition of
"Just do it!" playing in your head.
You were not the one
holding the cold glass
of water in your shaking hand.
You were not the one
putting five, six, seven pills
past your trembling lips.
You were not the one
who climbed back into bed,
waiting impatiently for death.
You were not the one
who unfortunately woke the next afternoon
with a dry mouth and aching body.
No, you don't understand.

You constantly push buttons
But when will the bomb detonate?

midnight thoughts
never put into words
falling
crumbling
breaking

but who knew?
no one
not even the only person
I love
I cherish
I hold so very dear

you'll never understand these words
not until I read them aloud
for they're empty without emotion

how do you read them, then?

Cry for me

The look in your eyes
lays me bear --
arms needing,
chest heaving,
heart bleeding.

Behind your eyes, shooting stars
I would make a wish, but what I would wish for is already in my arms

This isn't a poem. It's just a post of gratitude.

I want to thank all of my friends for being so supportive over the past two months. There have been high ups and low, low downs, but you've been there every step of the way. You've been building me up and reminding me that what I did was a good decision. Not only that, but you've also supported me in my new relationship. I've received constant "I can tell he makes you really happy" and "This is the happiest I've seen you in a long time and I know it's because of him". You will never know how appreciated those simple phrases are. They mean that you continue to love me, no matter who I am with or what decisions I choose to make for myself.
Thank you. Thank you. **Thank you.

I've stopped looking for you in the eyes of others

Push against the window pane
But the shutters will remain *locked

You see the stars clearer than I do...
Send me messages on their light

I wish you knew the 2 AM me.

The 2 AM me isn't afraid to speak her mind,
she doesn't hide behind sighs and eye rolls.
Her deepest fear?
Sure, here it is on a timeline.

The 2 AM me is an open book,
she'll tell you whatever you want to know.
Her darkest secret?
Sure, here it is in full detail.

The 2 AM me isn't a coward,
she doesn't wait for you to bring up tough subjects.
Her haunting thoughts?
Sure, here they are on display.

The 2 AM me is full of love,
she'll keep telling you "I love you" until you grow sick of it.
Her translucent hopes?
Sure, here they are in moonlight.


...The 2 AM me isn't me at all.
She's someone else completely.
She waits patiently to be set free.

Tighten the noose
Count the pills
Clean the needle
Polish the gun
End the pain

"Leave if necessary. Just leave. If you stay and hang on, you never know what will  happen."

Your hand grasped mine
In Louisiana heat
And I swear
I felt my heart quake
And my world shake

You took half of me and I of you
but we'll find each other again somehow

I'm tired of feeling your hands instead of his. I'm remembering and shattering and losing myself to the pain. Get out, get out, get out.

I don't plan on hiding who I am anymore.
If they ask, I will answer with a somber
   "Yes, but that's over with."
or maybe a bold
    "Yes, but that's none of your business, is it?"
or most likely an energetic  
    **"Yes, and it was wonderful."

Cut me again
I triple dog dare you
Dig the blade in a little deeper
Push against my veins a little harder
Don't stop until my body is drained
And I don't feel anymore pain

So this is what it's like to be loved

I'm glad I did not die before I met you