You were silence in a room full of shouting
And i inhabited the never heard echo role
We were always almost,
Always reaching with hands half open
Thinking that's the only way one survives love
By not holding to tight, and not giving your all
I watched you leave, a broken record of doors closing
A sunset i've never been able to chase,
All a soft glow filled with fading promises
Your shadow seemed to linger longer then you voice ever did
And even now, i swear,
My heart remembers the rhythm of your breathing
More so then it does to me
You had said nothing
When everything in me was breaking apart,
Almost pleading for you to say something, anything
Like a prayer no one believed in,
And yet i placed a smile on my face, god, i always smile anyway
Like a lighthouse, pretending not be drowning
We started to build a home,
But instead of bricks it was out of borrowed time
And acted like we could call that, forever
And how we slept like ghosts
And kissed like we had plenty of years left
I would’ve loved you in all the wrong ways,
If it meant i was able to keep you
I would’ve burned down every part of my being
That could of ignited a fire no water could ever put out
But we were already burnt, smoke clouding our judgement
And i was learning to late that ashes do not come back
Now everytime i smell smoke,
I flinch, because it's something i lost, you
And maybe that is the cruelest part
Not that you’re gone,
But realizing i never really had you to begin with
Not when the match had already ignited
And we just stood as an arsonist, as we watched it burn

You can not speak the language of poetry to someone who doesn't hinder the ability to open themselves up for pain
Because words can encase feelings much more advanced than one can care to give credit for
You can not speak the language of poetry to someone whose heart is still whole, and does not withhold scars across the flesh
As beautiful as poetry may seem, it carries burdens, and hurt throughout the lines it sits on
You can not speak the language of poetry to someone who can not find the saint within the sin, nor the sin within the saint  
As to speak the language is to know the language inside and out, and for that you have to accept good and bad inhabit together
You can not speak the language of poetry to someone who is ignorant to its rawness which causes it to obtain its own type of irresistibility
Because to speak the language of poetry you must first allow yourself to feel it all
The gentleness a smile can portray
The saltiness that tears contain
And for the innocent blood to be bleed in order to be healed
Feeling is what makes poetry come alive
To from its own kind of lullaby by the beats your heart creates
As your pour every inch of your soul into the pages you hold
Reminding you every second, minute, hour and day that you are alive
As sonnets hide beneath the scars that frame your delicate heart
Fitting perfectly into a box labelled as fragile
As your lungs begin to feel heavy, having to take deeper breaths
Which as started to become as easy as picking the pen that's almost ran out has
Because you can not speak the language of poetry,
While you spend your whole life escaping from it all,
Hiding between the very pages your bury your head in,
And allow all your thoughts to scatter and form words on paper
Ink that dries, alongside your tears and your heart which bleeds
You can not speak the language of poetry, until you feel
You can not speak the language of poetry, until you feel it all
The good, the bad and everything in between
Let it in, to let it go.

I never allowed myself to divulge in the thought of soul mates, invisible string theory or even the simpler idea of just love.

I was never a child who planned and acted out what they wished their wedding would be. I was never the one who dressed as a princess only awaiting her prince. Aware of it all being a dream, and possibility of it crossing the realm to reality was close to zero.

I wasn't a child who was a girl living in the moment dreaming of her knight in shining armour or someone to love her as much as she did someone else. I was never that child, and that thought process and belief system was something that stained its ideology into my blood, unable to be ripped out and cleaned.

In so many words, I guess my childhood wasn't very childlike. Where the child allows herself to relish in dreams, no matter how huge. Even if it was as simple as becoming a princess herself. Now I am left looking, watching, reading and understanding love.

Soulmates.

Anything..

I fear I may never have it. Hell, I might not ever have it.

That I am someone incapable of loving, so when I dream about it now knowing deep down that it's all I crave. No smile or fantasy lands come out to play. Just fears that grow like a flower destined to wilt alone.

No happily ever after, for me.

Allow my skin to burn under the wonders of the sun
For it to be burnt away, letting loose the ever so flowing blood
Free from the confinements that the skin created
Allow my bones underneath to be bare for the world to observe
Like the paintings in museums framed with perfect lighting
Letting my body mold with the earth's guilty pleasures
Causing the grass to be green like emeralds
Soil amongst it all to be like carnelians
And for my soul to be entrapped by the colours of flowers
Angelite, Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Sapphire and Ruby
Those which fracture light and expose colours so eminent
Allow all flowers to grown in and around my decaying body
As they flourish and weave their entire being around my rib cages
Allow my dying body to breathe back life into something so encapsulating
For there vines to engulf my bones
Wrapping and gripping me into the soil and grass
For my skull to be forever staring at the sky
Cloud watching during the day,
Star counting through the night,
Allow my skin to burn under the warmths of the sun
Allow my bones to freeze under the bitterness of the moon
Receiving hugs from the vines forever as time will allow
And allow my bones, white as a ghost to be engulfed with petals
As they form artwork on my decaying body
Painting full of colour, on a body reflecting shadows of a life lived

There is something feminine of smudged lipstick
And mascara that runs down and away, from the victims eyes fall under
In seeing things that should never be witnessed,
I have grown to admire the inevitable of perfect being impossible
And grown to admire the imperfections that we withhold
But what i have grown to despise
To hate with each and every inch of my being
Is eating, or in the women's sense not eating
Making sure that our bodies fit into others standards
To immature to realise differences is beauty
The act of normalising women into standards
That mostly come from those who needs to fit into standards themselves
I am only a woman when i see tears down my cheeks in the mirror
In having to make sure walking in the dark, i am not alone
Or having to make sure an outfit i feel me in, is not asking for it
Or having to keep a look out constantly, while trying to have fun
And no matter the days i skip meals,
Nor the amount of days i put makeup on
Or straighten or curl my hair
I still feel the most feminine while i look back at someone i don't recognise
Only because i like to follow trends
Of what other women are doing with themselves
Never taking time to believe that i am enough
The way i was born, the way that i am
I hate how i'm told to hate the body that does not match with society
But i loathe it even more when i'm told i should love my body,
That's when i feel the most feminine
In not having control over my body,
But rather everyone else having control over it
Taking choices that should be mine away
Making my choices for me
Its like my own body is not even mine
That's when i feel like a woman
With mascara stained eyes
And smudged lipstick
In never feeling pretty
No matter how i try to manipulate my body.