you have more freedom
than you’re using

you've given my heart both freckles and stretch marks
and make it feel like a 2010 justin bieber song.
warm fingertips that make me feel like
i stuck my head out of the car window
as we drive down the highway
and the world could be crashing down around us
we probably wouldn't notice

run your fingers over the thin skin of my insides
pull away your hand, see the blood, and wonder what you got yourself into.
Help me out? Cold as ice,
carve a notch in your bedpost as i cut your name into my thigh
Don't you know
you're just another stomach ache in the morning
another ten minutes of my chin on porcelain
another string of lost messages nobody will read until I've already forgotten why i felt rotten in the first place.
I'll blast music loud enough that my ears give up,
and i can rub myself two black eyes,
maybe if I cut my nerve endings into a bouquet
to give you
this magnetic pull I feel will take the rest of me with it.

i'm this close to never talking to him again, but we all know
that will never happen,
he's like the three shots of ***** i knocked back on a thursday,
hot and stinging down my throat,
wishing there was someone else there to keep the warmth going.
i ******* hate the fact
that
he's the first one who made me blush,
before then i never had
but all you have to do is mention him next to me in the car
and my face is a bed of roses.
i'm ******* sick of waiting for a message
any sign that i wasn't just a distraction
a mirage,
any sign that this attraction i'm feeling
is worth it
at all.
i hate the fact, even more,
that he is the closest i've had
to romantic attraction that i can hold in my hands.
that my friends can talk about the boys they've gone through
when i've had this rotten apple core sitting in my stomach
for three years.
and the thing i most hate
is the tingling feeling
of having no one beside me at night
even though i'm fifteen
it's so tangible i can bite it.
i know it's cliche, but
i'm stuck in this hole
this garbage dispenser of no good,
and i've never felt so alone.
i need a new addiction,
so maybe it'll be easier
to quit him.

parties on fridays are the best kinds
because of the knowledge that sits in the back of your brain,
a used lunch tray,
that you were at school hours before,
and now you're here, warm bodies and hot ***** down your throat
making you feel at home.
parties on saturday are the best kind
because in the morning,
you can sit in church and relive every moment
in between psalms.
hymns will come out of your mouth, but really you're thinking
how
did
i
survive
that?
sunday parties are the best parties,
because everyone has this mutual feeling,
of living before the apocalypse, knowing
that tomorrow you will see them in the hall
and have a bruise named after them.

My definition of safe
is
next to you in the van,
my head is resting on your hip and i'm drifting off
tired enough that my vision is blurring
and my words are running together
and you can't tell what i'm saying,
so you just pet my hair until i fall asleep.
It's sitting in a theater flooded with purple light
i've got goosebumps
and i'm rubbing my thumb in the palm of your hand.
It's watching kids on the swingset going through the cold air
wearin' your sweatshirt and sitting in the grass.
It's sharing ben n jerry's at the gazebo,
the sun brushing its hair on my arms and neck
and listening to drake, with you
it's lying on a bed with navy sheets
in a pile of warm bodies, with you
it's hearing skype beep and feeling like cupid had maybe just shot me, that *******.
It's sitting in a black movie theatre and annoying everyone else with jokes only we understand, with you.
I don't know who my next you is,
but get here soon.