Poetry

I’d leave the unmade bed,
the pile of textbooks that feel like lead,
and the mirror that’s never quite right.

I’d just walk until the streetlights
stop looking like eyes,
and start looking like stars I can actually reach.

I am my own hero,

not because I fly or hold the sun,

but because when the foundations cracked

and the roof gave way to the weight of it all,

I did not let the dust become my grave.

Night reached a sticky hand 

Into her packet of pop rocks, hair

Messy but with perfect curls, eyes

Ever-changing with the color of dusk, 

Silky purple dress that twirled 

When it all hurts 
I watch the sunset,
I hear it tell me there is still beauty.
I see it gleaming
The sweet strawberry red
That stains the sky like red staining our fingertips
Leaving behind wisps of orange

we’ve been

circling

for so long

earth

a line we never cross

we drift

repeat

return

again

again

they’ll go farther

than any of us have

cut past the orbit

not accidental

cut it like i meant it

people laughed

said i looked 

like

like

someone else

someone i wasnt supposed to

like it was an insult

like it would land

i let it

I sat
curled in a ball
under the scorching stream.
Blistering water 
drawing a flushed mosaic on my back.

I misinterpret what you mean,

I cannot quite decipher words,

Your voice is sweet, your love is pure,

But who is all this pure love for?

I’d wait for you,

i am an empath

tears from you

become tears from me

i am an empath

i feel no emotion

only secondary

i am an empath

Honesty can be a cool breeze, or the blade of a knife cutting into your skin.

It can lift you up or it can pull you down.

Honesty is usually meant in the best of intentions.

But sometimes it still hurts.

Things I Know About You: 

Take the risks that scare you

Not because

There is no risk

But because 

You may shrink into yourself

If you don’t grow yourself.

I can not promise

That I am the best place

To be