everything is incredibly fleeting
and i can't help but think i am wasting too much time criticizing my thoughts and choices
over-analyzing every decision I make,
I am wasting so much time worrying

I'd rather spend that time hiking or dancing or kissing this boy i know
(especially kissing this boy i know)
(or holding his hand)
(or saying hello)

tired of writing dumb love poems and going back and forth between
extreme assurance and insecurity
I
will
not
be
around
forever
tell me what you want to do before I'm gone
let's go ******* do it

I will probably glorify you until you fizzle and burn out
and then you'll be left looking at your hands
and I'll be wondering why I don't want them on me anymore.
I wonder if my love is like sparklers
whenever I grabbed one and lit it,
I'd be too afraid to hold it until the very end
I'd drop it in the grass instead.
Maybe I don't know how to love without dropping things in the grass
but it doesn't feel like that yet.
I will grab the grass with fists
pour my eyes over with soil if that's what it takes to plant flowers in my vision,
because I deserve to glorify a ******* boy
if i think love is worth catching
before it hits the ground.
Besides, I learned how to light matches
and now I never drop a stupid sparkler

I wish I'd start smoking cigarettes and giving up.
I'd cross my legs, ash tray on table,
and
sometimes
i miss my friends
and sometimes i miss the ones i still have

sometimes things flip,
like my stomach
or my nerves
or the tone of your voice

When I was younger my best friend's sister asked me why my thighs were so much bigger than hers and without missing a beat I scrunched my eyebrows and said, "because my legs are so much stronger."
Since then my self-image is every teenage girl's sob story of not enough this or that, too much one way, too much in general
(i **** in my stomach when you put your arm around my waist)
and I've been trying to tell myself it's strength that matters,
but sometimes jutting bones seem like they'd hold up a little more than the flab of my stomach, like they'd put up a better fight against the sharp looks I'd give myself in the ******* mirror,
and maybe that's why I went from cutting my fleshy thighs to cutting my hip bones because **** my hip bones for being the only bones that weren't covered in fat.
I used to tell myself it'd be easy to skip every meal in exchange for 2 almonds and occasionally a piece of deli-cut turkey, I used to try for days to cut down on acceptable portions, and some days I'd win and I'd eat nothing and sometimes I'd win more and not think about it.
I used to try so hard to wrap my fingers around my ribs or to get my friends to stop saying my *** looked huge ("in a good way") but I was taught when young that overeating was okay because I'd sit at my plate until I swallowed everything that was given to me. I'd sit in the dark on nights I couldn't chew my chicken fast enough, since day 1 I've been a bad eater. I'd get yelled at for being full and now I'm always full but still eating and bones still seem stronger than my jiggly thighs and no, i can't wrap my fingers around my ribs, but if i **** in enough, i can see the outline

I want you to tear my belly button open with your teeth
(only after you tease me with your eyes)
claw up into my chest
pick apart my rib cage
clench your fist around my heart and it will shatter like glass
because that is what hearts of unsure girls do
(girls unsure about themselves in every sense of the phrase)
I don't think I've made an impression on you
I think I've just given you a pair of **** to pass the time with

i wrote a poem about concrete and how i step on every crack in the sidewalk like walking a tightrope,
the same way i trace my fingers down your spine
(I want to touch each vertebrae at a time)
at 12:30 I saw shadows in my room,
at 2:04 I thought I should have kissed you longer,
told you "I love you" a thousand more times

at 2:30 I was still thinking about your shoulder blades

**** nights like this
i get so sad over things that haven't happened yet

it's so nice to move and glide and jump
and forget about everything but my own ******* body

trying to pick apart the bones in my hand
snap off each finger tip
hang them on strings from the ceiling
i hope you keep yourself warm next winter and i hope you'll wonder if i sleep with enough blankets
i don't mind sharing blankets with you

Whether you want to continue to grow together
or you'd rather grow apart,
just let me know
when you know
but don't give me false hope
and we can just enjoy the summer before the winter hits
if that's all you want

UGH JUST THINKING THAT I AM TOO MUCH,
I CAN BE TOO MUCH
I CAN FEEL TOO MUCH
I want to be with you
all the time
and sometimes I feel like I should feel sorry for feeling that way?
feel sorry for feeling
but mainly tonight i am just apologizing to myself
for not going to bed earlier

sometimes impressed with life
because i get to sit at the end of your couch and tuck my toes under your leg
(it truly is the little things)

okay my fingertips are glass and i've only used the edges for myself
but while i'm tracing your back I am careful to keep from pricking
and sometimes when we kiss
it feels like we connect and float and glide
and you know they say dancers are really sensitive to movement,
we know how every adjustment means something
every swoop of the head and blink of the eye
and every time you touch my spine
the dancer in me leaps into meaning,
because the way your head tilted is art enough to put to music

it's pretty simple, i guess
no crows picking at the thoughts under my skull
no claw marks on my back from everyone who ever tried to stab me there
no knots of hair in the corners of my eye lids built up from years of trying to hide behind a frizzy blonde
life can be simple because it's all only metaphors
most things i think could be so much simpler

so instead of
me being a small cactus missing many ****** and him being the sun that allows me to grow tall anyway
he's just a guy that i love who makes me think a little clearer and feel a little stronger
and instead of
sitting at the bottom of a lake with the whole world still raining on me, seaweed wrapped around my hips so tight it stung
i was just a girl sitting in the tub under shower jets, letting the water wash away the blood

**** metaphors

let's remove the layers of clothes separating us
(you're looking me in the eyes again)
my shirt comes off
(your lips are against my ear)
my fingers fumble around your belt loops
(you're kissing down my stomach)
i want to press my palms against your cheeks and rest your head to my chest
i want to tell you how much you mean to me
over and over and over

i'm sorry i'm never sure
but i never am.
I want to get high because I'm tired of a lot
and I'm cleaning up my room but i'll never learn to clean up my act
and what would be the point of that, anyway
(what's the point in anything)
(what's the point in any of this)
tired of planning and hoping and dreaming of success
when i can't even think of what success is
when walking around strung out
seeing in black and white
lighting up and stumbling through bed sheets
doesn't sound so ******* bad
because you can't be bored if you're a drug addict, right?
i've already got my tombstone picked out
i've already drowned and i'll already die in a car crash
or get ***** in a city
and why do my nightmares get so tragic
when i've never really experienced a tragedy
Maybe we are all just walking tragedies
waiting for our time of disaster
SOME DAYS I HAVE HOPE
SOME DAYS I HOPE FOR AN OVERDOSE

godddddd i am just trying to enjoy the time i have but sometimes i don't know how i ***** that up so easily

my dad sighs and walks up the stairs
and i don't have many secrets,
but writing things down feels like one.
telling you i don't just want to see the grand canyon,
i want to see you there,
that feels like a secret.

i used to use index cards as book marks so i could neatly write down my favorite quotes/lines from the pages and sometimes i wish i took more pictures so i could do that with moments.
sometimes things last, but sometimes things aren't supposed to,
and i think i'd like to have a few pictures of what time won't let me take with me
(i should take more pictures of the people that make me smile, just in case)

daydreaming of *** and actually liking the idea of making deals like "you clean the dishes, i'll do the laundry and take out the trash"

sometimes i write about the same thing
over and over and over and ov-
I don't know why
and sometimes I yell it all in my mind and it doesn't stop until i cry
and sometimes I go to the studio and forget about everything
except pointing my feet
but I know there's no future in that because my feet don't point far enough
and I can't yell loud enough for it to stop
and throwing my body around a stage only makes me forget for the length of the song
and what if one day i can't stand to remember
or what if one day all i want to do is remember
i could get too far lost in it all
or get lost in it while trying to grasp onto the edge

i know i start things in fragments
or in the middle of a sentence
beginning with "so" or "but" or "and"
i know sometimes i leave things hanging
because some nights i walk out the door still not having
any poems come out of my mouth
and i get in my car and just can't quite figure it out
anything i write anymore is a love poem (oops)
but when i look in your eyes all i can think to say is "i love you," i guess
nothing too poetic
yet the way you say it
is what structures my poems

(it's not that i don't want to speak in stanzas,
but take it as a compliment that sometimes your eyes make me dizzy enough not to think straight)

and i know you were drunk
but the tragedy of last night is that i believed every sweet word you said

6 months ago you made me a playlist and sent me the link
and you told me to tell you when i pressed play
so you could press play at the same time
and we could listen to it together
and talk about what we're hearing at the same time

one of my favorite things to do is listen with you

sometimes i wish i could be a window
and you are always on the inside,
and i am always letting the sun peek in
and you look so handsome smiling through rays of sunshine

i need to stop treating my mind like a punching bag
i need to take rests and drink water
stop staying up late at night
digging through the past,
knowing i'll never be a first kiss to anyone
-it shouldn't matter, it doesn't-
but do you think about her?
(she was prettier than me)

THEY WERE ALL JUST WORDS BEFORE YOU

the first boy that kissed me without any warning
now kisses a girl that used to be my best friend
he shoved his tongue in my mouth while i was crying
i laughed and said, "this doesn't count"
got on my bike and rode away

the first boy i willingly kissed
i broke up with after letting him finger me for a year without any blow jobs in return (eventually i was comfortable enough with the idea, but ****, how awful of me)
and the summer after he cried over me he got back with his ex
(i was the mistake in the middle of them)

the boy that i kiss now
makes me bite my lip
and i miss him every second he's not around
because this love makes me hysterical
and i never really know what to say at the right time in the right way
so i just press my palm to his face
and hope he gets the message

would anyone like to volunteer to stuff me with leaves until fall colors pour out of my eyes?
stuff me until you suffocate all of my insides,
put me in a room filled with tree bark and suicide,
pop pills in my mouth and watch me turn into a maple,
i'll open up my legs if you promise not to bloom
because i am already rooted around you.
lights dance around your collar bone
you are looking through me
i see nothing
i see everything
i see a sad goodbye
i ask you to water me so my roots can grow stronger
but you fill me with whiskey, get me more than tipsy
i know it's cliche, but i'm love drunk on you, baby
stumbling and stuttering and hoping that even after this tree dies
after every vein in every leaf has been bled out...
you'll still remember me fondly

i'm sorry you can't hear me when i scream "I love you" in my head
i'm sorry i'm the type who seems to always write things down instead

i guess we have no future
(at least you know)
so i look outside of the driver's seat window
my hands on the wheel
passing trees and leaves
(everything here will be tainted with your memory)
and i found myself wondering what the hell is the ******* point
if you're already planning to leave me behind
(i almost cried, it stung)
but tonight as i stood to leave, you said
"don't go. just one more minute? don't leave me yet"
so i laid back down and kissed you again
and i change my mind,
there doesn't need to be a ******* point to any of it

tired of thinking these self-destructive words can be beautiful
poems are too often about how you'd put almost anyone ahead of yourself
how they can heat you up quicker than the oven your mom used to cook dinner in
how their eyes alone could give you a rush that makes you wild
(they do this to us, and we assume we can't live up,
but your eyes make someone wild, too
sometimes write about you)

I used to be so realistic and reasonable,
nixing words like "forever" out of my head
because what a stupid concept.
now all i want to tell you is,
I wouldn't mind being happy with you forever.

can't wait to sleep in your ***** pajama bottoms again
and wear the sweatshirt you left at my house even though the zipper is broken
i am constantly trying to surround myself with things that remind me of you
and i'm not sure what this means
but i don't want to think about the future anymore

don't look at anything i write
wait until it comes out of my mouth
because everything you've ever whispered in my ear
has been ringing and ringing
and i've never heard such a nice sound

i wish i could give that to you in return
i wish i would say things first
because god, i mean these words

when we were drunk,
i had sober thoughts of how handsome you were
(what kept me from saying it out loud?)
when we were sober,
i had drunk thoughts of how handsome you were
(what kept me from saying it out loud?)

I want to tell you so many things about yourself,
I want you to know that
I'm not sure when you began to mean so much to me,
but it feels like it's always been this way

my god the way you slur your words when drunk
"i wish i wasn't drunk," you said, and i know why you said it,
i know why, but i asked, "why?" and you shrugged.
i kept calling you cute (i couldn't help it)
and then you pulled me into the back room, saying "let's dance"

sometimes my eyes droop and my vision gets blurry,
my lungs lag and my flesh gets tingly,
sometimes i feel my heart beat in my throat
and every time i touch my skin it feels like it's peeling off
sometimes life feels like a dream
and i can't tell what is reality

i wonder where your hands will be in a year
i dream your fingers might still intertwine with mine

sometimes i explain things to people i shouldn't talk to,
-like how sometimes my mind lags
and my vision and breathing go with it
and it is difficult to think of reality-
and then i remember who i'm talking to
(remember it's not you)
and the look on their faces makes me laugh.
their stare makes me think maybe i am crazy,
i like talking to you because you are real
and you don't make me feel crazy,
even when i might sound crazy

have i used this line already?
it makes sense because really i can't stop thinking about the rain on his windshield and how the drops sounded while the smiths were playing,
how good it felt to be kissed in his passenger seat,
it feels like it was a lifetime ago,
and i lied,
this is a poem about a boy
this is a poem about a boy
this is a poem about a boy

i hope i always remember your car doors and rain

lately i have nothing but sweet poems to write
and i am sorry to every teen who thinks they are in love
i am sorry we all know it will end
i am sorry time will tear you apart and you will be left in dust, thinking,
times were so good, his lips tasted like a gold mine,
and i am sorry that you will always wish instead of meeting him at 17,
you could have maybe met at 23
and instead of drifting apart because society tells you to
you grow into lives together
(because you can take them with you at 23)
(at 17 you just pack your bags)
I am sorry we are so pessimistic and reasonable
trying to be adults, trying to be mature
when all we want to do is realize that love doesn't have to end
just because it's supposed to
and despite popular belief and majority rules,
not everything has to have a bad ending
or an ending at all

SOMETIMES I JUST CURL INTO A BALL
AND PRETEND THAT I AM TALKING WITH YOU
BECAUSE I NEVER GET THE RIGHT WORDS OUT IN PERSON
SO MAYBE GOING CRAZY AND SAYING SWEET WORDS INTO THIN AIR
WILL BALANCE OUT MY REGRET
OF NEVER TELLING YOU
HOW GREAT YOU ARE

you constantly quote
"it's alright
to tell me
what you think
about me"
but you also say
"take notes"
when our friend talks of how bad it is for the woman to say "i love you" first
and i am constantly torn between saying,
"I'm in love with you"
or asking
"do you still like it when I'm around?"

I don't know what I want with my life,
but ****, i know it might be bad to say,
but right now in life, day to day
today, tomorrow
I want you in it.

you want to take a look into my self-image?
my mirror is not even cracked
(i would hate that symbolism)
but **** do i look distorted.
I'm always too fat and my acne is impressive,
my hair is too flat or frizzy or greased,
Every look there's something dissatisfying
but god, sometimes the way you look at me...

not even that, I guess. I don't need another's affection
to forget about my own distaste (though it helps)
but mainly it's just the moments I am smiling and with the right people
that I forget about the distortions of my body and my face

call me a kaleidoscope
my vision dances when you enter my dreams
i can't focus on anything
but the distance between you and me tonight

i know i already wrote two poems tonight,
but i just remembered how
last night at 2am we were sharing a tiny blanket
and when i started to slightly shiver or shift,
you tucked the whole blanket around me
(five minutes later I heard your teeth chatter)

i guess my blurry vision can still focus on our blurred conversations
and every time another bottle smashes
i'll think of the way your lips made me crash my brain against my skull over and over
because sometimes when i think too much,
i wish i'd never looked you in the eye at all
only for selfish reasons,
like the inevitable day we go in opposite directions.
you are more than a tongue or a hand holding a guitar pick
you have made more of an impression on me than i have in mud with boots on
and i suppose it is scary to think maybe i'll always be pressed like a flower in a heavy book
with the way your smile made me feel

I am constantly making more out of little things,
like last night when you took me into the other room
and we laid on the floor in the dark - you bit my lip
and said it helped you feel normal again...
I am still thinking of it,
of the look you gave me on the couch
while I took my glasses off to wipe the lenses
I SWEAR EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM DISAPPEARED
I swear you must have been feeling the same, you must have,
I am still thinking of it,
of the way you wrap your arms around my waist,
of every time you grab my hand,
of every little strand of hair that you twirl around your finger,
I am still thinking of it.
You must have been feeling the same,
you must have

sometimes i bite my tongue
because i still haven't told you i love you
and maybe i never will
and i will always regret it

do you feel the same,
were you biting your tongue too?
you must have been,
you must have

right?

i don't like the game where we all pretend we can figure each other out
(we can get pretty close)
but stop predicting my future -
if i wanted my ******* palm reading,
i'd have put my palm against yours and held your hand

but god when you pull me closer,
nuzzle in,
when all i can feel is skin on skin,
when the world falls blank and insignificant to your finger tips
because the world never touched me like this
the world never kissed me like this...
so, sometimes, when you pull me closer,
I forget about the ******* world