let me love you.

let me be your best friend,
I want to bury your secrets in my ribcage
I want to have movie nights,
and inside jokes.

let me be your soulmate,
I want to dance in the kitchen,
to get on my tiptoes to kiss your lips softly,
to wink at you in crowded places.

let me be your shoulder to cry on,
to hold you when you’re breaking
to help to stich you back up
let me tell you I hate to see you like this.

let me fight with you,
get frustrated at something you said,
or you not agree with me,
and then making it work out.

let me tell you, you’re my favorite thing
fill the passenger seat in your car,
have messy hair and sleepy mornings
and laugh at the snide remarks people will make.

let me love you…

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cynicism.

I think it’s sad,

that some people never look up at the sky anymore,

that they never talk to imaginary friends, instead they let the silence drive them insane.

that they will let the light leave their children’s eyes, and accept it as ‘reality…”

that they will forever wonder how to pay the bills, how to make the next paycheck count,

cynicism is a sickness,

and many of us are unwilling victims.

cynicism is a sleepiness,

and many of us may never wake up…

 

burned bridges.

I am not who I once was

all my poetry seems to hit that resounding note

maybe, I can’t get past the fact

I have murdered my old self, and no one notices

or that I love watching bridges burn

the charred remains of the ‘glory days’

a ghost wandering these hallowed grounds,

why do I live in nostalgia?

why do I wish for the past?

when I can recall each plunge of my weapon

and burying this part of me in the back of my mind

home.

I planted flowers in my backyard
and painted the walls yellow
I locked the front door,
and told fear she could
find someone else to room with.

The stairs stopped creaking
with the steps of people that abused me,
and I blared music loudly
and opened all the windows
allowing light to finally touch parts of me

I danced, and laughed
pulled out all the old photographs
of what I had, but never quite lost
I have never felt more at home
in my own mind

 

we’ll be poetry.

I get tipsy off tea samples, and you don’t mind at all.

I sang along to the song in the car, and you laughed at my dramatic reenactment.

I am raw at midnight, and we sit and talk on the couch.

I communicate with you through glances, smiles, and winks.

Someday, we’ll drive to the best place to watch the sunrise, and order cappuccinos at a drive thru.

We’ll name the stars, and you’ll paint the sun coming over us.

We’ll forever be set in poetry.

 

 

 

innocence.

Her hands have a slight tremor. “Stop that; I am in control,” she whispers to them. They have words written in pen–smudging on the ends–all over them. People tell her the ink will poison her, and she just laughs.

Her eyes are held open by mascara and cups of coffee. No cream, no sugar, she likes the bitterness.

She hums something under her breath. A song from some distant memory. That Ben Rector song that made her smile and cry at the same time.

She’s been heartbroken, but the broken heart is fixed with a little tape and glitter glue.

Her taste is eclectic; never fit into a box. Her room is littered with pictures of old memories; movie tickets, polaroids, letters, journals, and glass figurines. Her stuffed animals lined up on a shelf, and she kisses their cheeks when their eyes droop.

Maybe, she never grew up. She got taller, wears makeup, smiles when she’s told, strives for better grades, fell for boys, and felt her friends maturing day by day.

But–she would still hug the tree in the front yard, or dance along to her favorite songs when everyone else told her to stop.

She watched the city the other day. She drove her mother around, and she realized how alone she felt now.

So many people were gone; some by choice, and some because life is full of chapters. It seemed the town’s population of kindred spirits dwindled daily.

And, tears blurred her vision as she sped along the highway.

Growing up wasn’t what she always expected it would be…maybe she never would be everything they wanted. Maybe, she would always push boundaries, and always get cut from pushing the envelope too much.

That was alright. And, maybe people would keep leaving, because of college, jobs, and responsibility. And, maybe new people would appear and they’d make unforgettable memories together as well.

So, she still hummed the Ben Rector song, and tapped her trembling fingers to the piano playing in her mind, and tried to think of a time where innocence and happiness were second nature.