Hi

Kiss me.
Hold me.
Don't let go.
Take me back.
Make dear sweet love to me!

All things I want to scream out at you.
But all I can manage is a hopeful smile
and a "hi".

Just know that that hi
means so much more.

It means you hurt me.
In a way I thought no one could ever hurt me again.
My world shattered around me,
showering me in debris,
burying me deep in a sadness
I wish was gone.
But it's not.

It means I miss you.
I miss your arms around me at night,
easing me into my most peaceful sleep.
I miss you kissing me on your couch
and at my car
and in your bed.
I miss the sensation of you moving inside me,
the only rhythm I was ever able to keep.
I miss the feeling I got when your lips met mine.
When I was in your arms.
I miss feeling at home.

It means I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I wasn't everything
you hoped I would be.

It means come back.
Please.

So,
hi.

When I Have A Daughter

When I have a daughter,
I won't warn her
of the dangers of alcohol
or drugs
or strange men in the streets.
Those fears come naturally.
I will warn her of the boy
with the dazzling eyes that melt her very soul.
Whose words taste like the sweetest vanilla
and hands on her body
feel like laying in a field of the softest grass.
But those feelings are only fleeting,
I will tell my baby girl
of the pain she will feel in heart
when he finds another body to lay his hands upon.
I will warn her of the fire
that will burst through every one of her cells.
I will warn her of the tears.
I will tell her that the tears are okay,
if she's crying that means she hasn't lost her heart yet.
Her mascara can reapplied
but her heart cannot be replaced.
I will warn her of him returning.
He will say he saw how special you are,
but sweetie,
his whisper is full of lies.
Because he only loves the warmth he feels
when he is inside you.
If he loved anything else
you would've never seen him walk away.

When I have a daughter,
I won't warn her
of the dangers of alcohol
or drugs
or strange men in the streets.
I will warn her of the girl
who may make her question
everything she's ever been told in life.
The girl who's smile fills her heart
with more warmth than any boy's hand ever has.
Of the girl who's kiss will make her feel electrified
even when her head might be telling her it's wrong.
I will tell her it's right.
I will tell her love is always right.
But I will warn her of the critics,
the people who will pick her love for this girl apart.
I will warn her of giving up,
how even though I'll support her,
I'm rooting for her to succeed despite the bullies.
Because if they ever felt your love for her sweetie,
they'd be overwhelmed with jealousy.

When I have a daughter,
I will warn her of love.

Because I Can

 I thought I'd warn you all loving me will entail.

I am crazy.
Full blown, completely crazy.
I will drive you up the wall,
I will make you want to scream and hit things
and frustrate you both mentally and sexually.
I will make you yell out to an empty room void of answers.

And the answer will always be: I do it  because I can.

I will talk.
Nonstop.
Loudly.
Inappropriately.
I will go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
about nothing important.
The man I saw walking his dog.
How I lost my virginity.
The way my sandwich tasted at lunch.
Anything and everything I will tell you about it.
And you will wonder why I must talk this much sometimes.

And the answer will always be: because I can.

I will tell you about my past relationships.
Because I think you deserve to know about them.
And you will think I'm crazy because
I don't hate a single ex boyfriend.
Not
A
Single
One.
The way I forgive them might anger you
and make you jealous
but baby it should just show you that no matter what
I will always forgive you.
I will always love you.
Fiercely.

Because if I do all these things with you
and laugh obnoxiously in public
and kiss your dimples
and let you love me,
baby that means I'm here to stay.
And if you're the right one for me
you'll ask why I chose you out of everyone.

And the answer will always be: because I could.

Broken Record

Letting go
of you,
of our memories,
of our love,
feels like extracting nails from my soul.

Because all you ever did towards the end
was hang me up to wait for you,
while I fought against each piercing nail
you stuck into me.

And I let you,
because loving you was a lot like
playing a broken record over and over
but I kept it because it was my favorite.
I couldn't bear to throw it away
scared the memories would go with it.

But eventually,
something becomes broken beyond repair.
So I yanked each nail from my body,
from my heart,
from my soul,
that you had so perfectly placed,
bleeding me out so you could selfishly forever have my heart.

But I've realized
I'll find a new record,
one with no cracks,
one that won't skip.
One that will give me new memories.

So I'm walking away,
the record and nails in the trash,
my heart still intact.

Kiss It Away

The boy in front of me begs for a kiss.
Not with words,
but with his body,
with his eyes.

Kiss him,
my head whispers.

But my heart whispers back,
his kiss won't fill the cracks in your heart.
His kiss won't bring your love back.
His kiss won't make it hurt any less.

I kiss him.
My heart was right.
I kiss and I kiss,
and I rip off his clothing
as if by tearing through layers
of shallow fabric
will make the pain in my heart go away.

After every inch of skin is exposed and explored
my heart is still filled with longing.

Because his voice did not leave messages
etched beneath my skin.

His kisses did not stitch together
the broken pieces of my heart one by one.

His laugh did not tickle my veins.

His eyes did not soak up the image of me.

When I left,
he did not look up.

He did not call to apologize for not being able to take away my longing.

Only you can do that,
but you must apologize for causing it.

Him

His lips sent electric currents
through my veins
directly to my heart,
the way the tab of acid
on his tongue did to him.

The scent of him
was like listening to the ocean
while drifting into a deep sleep
after a year of early morning alarms
and late nights at the office.

His arms holding me close
were like returning to my childhood bedroom,
all my teddy bears surrounding me
in a hug that could only be described
as home.

But his words stopped matching his thoughts,
so my heart stopped matching my head.

I started to lay awake for hours,
desperate to find his scent
on some article of clothing
I had carelessly thrown to the side.

I began arranging my pillows
around me like his arms used to be,
but they never quite mastered
the feeling of home
like his limbs entangled with mine did.

Eventually,
I stopped sleeping in my bed
because laying down without him
felt like a night without stars,
hopeless and terrifying.

Laying awake,
sitting among clothes
that his scent no longer lingers on,
holding onto the body
he was suppose to hold,
I cry.

The tears trace his name down the cheeks he once kissed.
They don't taste nearly as sweet on my lips as his lips did.
But it's all he left me with.

Summer

Wishing for summer
because summer means your hazel eyes
dancing in the sunlight.

Summer means playful kisses
after soaking me with splashes
in the ocean that isn't nearly as big as my love for you.

Summer means
rain soaking my hair
and my skin
sending shivers through my veins
just like your lips as they kiss
every inch of my tan body.
Slowly,
as if you are savoring each one.
My neck.
My collarbone.
My breasts.
My hand.
My waist.
My thigh.
Oh God.
I long for summer
the way I long for those kisses
that make my breath catch in my throat.

Summer means falling asleep with the sand as my blanket
and you as my sunrise.

Summer means falling in love
the way I always do
when you hold my hand
and look at me that way.

Summer means humid nights
beneath the stars
giggling as you whisper plans for our future in my ear.
Satisfying every longing, broken part of my heart.

Summer means no more tears,
you'll be there to stop them.

Summer means you.

Getting Started

     She laid her head against his chest, breathing in his fresh scent. The hot summer air snuck in through the cracks of the windows and the door as he ran his fingers through her blonde hair. She sighed, giggling a little. "What?" he asked, a playful smile lighting up his freckled face. "Nothing," she said smiling up at him, "I'm just...happy." He looked into her eyes before leaning down to kiss her softly, "Ah but the beach is calling my name and I believe you have to get some writing done," he said bringing back to reality from her early morning bliss. She sighed deeply making him laugh, he extracted himself from her and she watched as he made his way to the bathroom to shower. Damn did that boy look good in just his boxers, she thought to herself.
     She got up and started making coffee turning on music so she couldn't hear the water running in shower anymore. Lost in her thoughts and the music she took her coffee over to the window looking out at how beautiful the sun looked this summer morning. She got so caught up in the beauty of her city that she didn't hear Charlie sneak up behind her. "So damn beautiful," he whispered against her neck, hugging her from behind. "I know, we live in the most amazing city," she said back. He laughed and it tickled her ear making her stomach flip a little like she was back in middle school, "No silly I meant you." She blushed and shook her head but he stopped her before she could disagree with a kiss that made her pulse race. After seven years together it was amazing he could still do that to her. He pulled away smiling, "K babe get to writing, I'm not coming back until you have a full column for me to read." He grabbed his keys and left leaving her smiling after him still trying to catch her breath from that kiss.
     After showering and throwing her untamable curls into a messy bun Scarlett sat down at her laptop with her coffee. The blinking cursor seemed to mock her this morning like it had for weeks now. Playing with keys she tried to think of anything worth writing about in her life. She was, as Charlie called her, the modern Carrie Bradshaw. Basically, she was paid to write about her life and fashion in explicit detail. Lately though, nothing seemed to be working. Possibly because everything in her life was perfect lately. Her and Charlie were finally moved in together after years apart filled with phone calls and fights. She had gotten a job she loved, she was in Charleston the city of her heart, and her shoe closet was boasting with some beautiful finds. For once nothing was wrong. But she couldn't seem to put this perfection into writing.
     Picking up her Iphone she dialed her best friends number, Morgan picked up on the first ring. "Hey, hold on- Hayden eat your breakfast, no you cannot let Gigi eat it!" Scarlett giggled at Morgan scolding her two year old son. "Hey sorry Hayden was up at five this morning and Tyler went to work around the same time so I'm already kinda done with this day, what's up?" "Nothing really, Charlie and I are finally moved in together which is great, but lately I haven't been able to write a fucking thing." "Hmm..." Scarlett could hear Morgan move the phone to her other ear as she cleaned up after her son, "Maybe you're just too comfortable. Go out. Do something crazy. You're still just 22 lord go to a bar tonight, party, but BE GOOD." Scarlett laughed, "Yeah okay," she said hanging up as Morgan started scolding Hayden again for giving the dog his food.
     Maybe she did need a night out without Charlie. She called up her friend Alexis and told her to get out her slutty dress, they were going out tonight.

Damage

I stare down at my body

inspecting the damage

I have done unto myself 

by allowing my heart to love you.

My arms are bruised and limp,

tired and overworked 

from holding onto you so tight. 

The scars on my hand 

were etched in each time 

I held yours in mine.

The blood on my heart

is from begging yours to join with mine.

Only to be pierced by the words

never and goodbye.

Finally,

raising my head 

to look at my reflection,

I see the emptiness 

in the eyes people once described as fiery. 

The damage that you have done to my body and soul causes tears to erupt from the very core of my whole being.

I cry for lost love.

I cry for my lost self. 

Maybe

Today I woke up

tired of blaming myself.

Maybe I loved you too much,

but maybe,just maybe, 

you didn't love me enough.

Maybe you refused 

to share with me what bothered you

because you didn't want to start a fight.

That fight would've made us stronger.

Maybe you were scared to be alone with me too often because the way 

I made your pulse race

and your heart thump 

was unfamiliar.

Maybe the way I wanted you

in every way

terrified you because no one had ever

craved you like I had.

Maybe you couldn't call to end it

because if you heard my voice 

you would've reconsidered.

Maybe you ended it because you were too tired to try harder.

Maybe you broke my heart because you could.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It's your fault.

Act I

Look at that girl,

just into her teens

yet so close to being an adult.

You see innocence,

you see sweetness,

confidence,

the image she paints for the world to see.

 

 

But she is no longer innocent,

oh no

that was taken by a boy

who whispered sweet things to her in the dark.

 

 

No longer sweet,

she put her trust

in people who didn't deserve it.

Those people tore her apart,

piece by piece,

leaving her with open wounds

that she covered with that smile she's known for.

 

 

The confidence she walks with

is just a show.

Her lunch will be forced back up

when she gets home.

Her knees are bruised

from kneeling on the ground to get rid of her meals.

Not happy even when the ladder of her ribs

scrape her elbow.

She still isn't as thin as the girls in the magazines.

 

 

She layers on makeup every morning,

her skin never as perfect as other girls.

Maybe if her skin was perfect he would've chosen her.

Maybe if she was skinnier he would've chosen her.

 

 

Maybe if she hadn't been so sweet she would've never believed him.

 

 

She's her worst critic, not able to see what everyone else sees,

unable to see herself.

My Apology Letter

I apologize for walking into your life
just because mine was a mess.

I apologize for using you
to mend my freshly broken heart
before stopping to ask
if you possibly needed a band aid for yours as well.

I apologize for trying too hard.

I apologize for being too available,
always there,
even when you didn't want me.

I apologize for ignoring your silent no.

I apologize for pushing the physicality
because emotions make me insecure
due to past experiences.

I apologize for thinking that
taking it slow
meant you didn't really want me.

I apologize for saying "I love you too"
when I should've said
"It's too soon".

I apologize for believing you so fiercely and naively.

I apologize for bringing him
into our relationship
because I thought
he could help me avoid making the mistakes I made with him.

I apologize for not considering your feelings
when I brought up his name,
or laughed at inappropriate times.

I apologize for being willing
to jump if you told me to,
but only if you held my hand.

I apologize for asking for a future
when there have been times
that you haven't even wanted a tomorrow.

I apologize for showing you how much I loved you.

I apologize for having asked for an explanation
because when you gave it to me,
I felt my world cave in
and I'm still not ready to clean up the debris.

I apologize for still loving you.

I apologize for wanting you to hold my hand.

I apologize for the tears I've cried over you.

I apologize.

I love you.

But Mommy

But Mommy,

if I showed you who I really was

you'd hate me even more than you do now.

It's okay.

I know I'm hard to love.

I didn't turn out like you wanted me to.

In fact I think I'm your biggest fears brought to reality.

The monster under your bed came alive as your daughter.

But Mommy,

the hickeys on my neck are all I have left

of the boys who only kiss me goodbye.

I'd tell you all about them but you'd only yell.

But Mommy,

I don't go for a run

because sometimes you push me too hard

and my ribs start showing

and I call that beauty.

Because that's when Mommy compliments me.

I'd tell you all about this but you'd only cry.

But Mommy,

my grades aren't perfect because I'm not that smart.

My mind isn't at school when I'm there.

School isn't my strength but you just keep telling me how smart I could be.

Could be.

So I work hard only to not be good enough by two points.

I earn praise with points.

I'd tell you that but you'd only disagree.

So one day I stopped calling you Mommy.

Because I didn't want my mommy to look at me like that.

But Mommy,

it breaks my heart too.

Love

Love takes on a different form for everyone.

For some it's the way that person kisses their hand

before their lips.

For others it's the way they slam the door at 2 a.m.

only to be back by seven,

apology in hand,

alcohol and regret apparent in their breath.

For me love is your hesitation.

The way your calloused hands pause before sliding down my waist to my hips...

then even more slowly below my jeans.

Love to me is the pack of menthol cigarettes on your table

and the stuffed animal puppy on your dresser.

It's the way your lips mouth

"I love you"

against mine,

so gently.

Sometimes too gently,

where I have to tell you how much I want you.

But I love that too.

For me love is

the bottles of vodka

that are placed so perfectly on display,

proud of your kryptonite.

Love to me is your voice

telling me to be careful,

asking if I'm okay,

telling me it'll be okay.

That voice,

your voice is love.

So are your fingers,

interlaced with mine,

letting me know,

so casually,

you're there for me.

Love appears in different forms to people.

It appeared to me as you.

And remains as us.

Sweetie

Sweetie,

you are worth so much more

than even your own mind tells you.

You're beautiful in more ways than

your mirror can tell you.

Your mind runs rampant with beautiful ideas

and beautiful love

that you are not yet ready to accept.

Because love terrifies you.

No one has ever shown you the love you've always deserved.

To you love means leaving.

To you love lacks trust.

To you love is more pain than happiness.

But sweetie,

there is a boy who loves you so.

He's just so scared to let you down.

And you're too scared to let him get too close.

Because no one's ever looked at you the way he does.

Or really looked at you at all.

But it's okay.

He means what he says.

And if he doesn't,

I do.

You fight dirty.

And you know where to place your daggers,

as do I.

But at the end of the day,

each and every one of them,

I love you.

And it won't make up for all the ones who don't

or didn't.

But I hope it helps you see yourself

as the beautiful,

talented,

smart,

person that you are.

Sweetie,

you deserve to see yourself as the rest of us do.



Burning

I attempt to hold back the tears

as I watch the flames lick at the words

I wrote about you.

The words I wrote when my sobs

were laughs.

The words that no longer apply.

The words you never heard.

But backing into the wall

as I watch the flames burn my previous happiness

I'm not strong enough to fight this hurt.

You made me feel beautiful

after a line of boys made me feel

worthless.

Merely pretty.

If that.

You gave me hope after I had lost view of the light.

You gave me a love I had hoped to hold onto.

But you let go.

You let me fall into the abyss

of a broken heart and bad days.

Of nights filled with questions.

That remain unanswered.

Only to leave me to resort to petty anger.

Anger that drove me to burn my happiness

because that was your intention.

Others may have broken my heart

but you burned it.

In hot, vibrant flames.

Burning is worse than breaking,

the pain lasts longer.

You're still burning me.

To Her

To the girl who called me a thot my third day at a new school,

Thank-you.

You taught me a new word.

I appreciate the opportunity to expand my vocabulary.

Also, thank-you for making me known.

I didn't have to work nearly as hard to make friends after that.

I also appreciate you giving me a reason to cry

and be able to say

it wasn't because I was dumped three days earlier.

And for making me realize how far I've come

from the insecure girl

who hated herself and would've believed every word

you just tweeted about me.

For showing me how much I've come to love myself

after hating every square inch of my then broken self.

It's selfish, conceited people like you that really improve the world.

Because while you're holding your Iphone

aggressively typing insults towards a girl

you know nothing about,

you just made her stronger.

So while you may be weak and quite frankly pointless,

you improved a person's soul.

So thot I may be,

but I'm still better than you.

Waiting

Exhausted from waiting,

standing here waiting.

Waiting for your arms to envelop my body into them,

pulling me towards your heart that you say beats for me.

Waiting for your whispered words to brush my lips,

Waiting for this dream we are stuck in to become a reality.

Waiting for you.

This waiting is killing me.

But you know that when my voice is tense

until it explodes

because your words aren't enough

when I need your hand holding mine.

Because telling you about my PB&J

would be so much better laying against your chest.

And the story of how your brother kissed a girl

would be so much funnier in the morning

in the bed with you.

Do you miss my fingers intertwined with yours?

Do you yearn for my kiss at the end of a long day?

Because your words are becoming just not enough for my heart.

And our smiles  would stay

if we weren't still waiting.



Angry

I am angry.

I want to kick and scream.

I want to tell everyone how bad you were in bed.

But I don't.

Because it was the kind of bad that made me want you to hold me

and listen to your heartbeat,

it made me not want sex

but focus on the parts of the relationship I had previously neglected.

But now I am angry.

So angry I want to shout at you with all the passion we lacked,

for being more attached to the drugs you used to fill the void

rather than me.

But that makes me sad because you're so much better than your addiction.

But the fact that I feel any emotions at all for you makes me angry.

Because as long as I'm angry

and I'm shouting

you can't hear how hurt I really am.

Because what makes me so angry

is that I could list 104 things you do that I love.

And that list would only be one of thousands,

possibly millions.

But I'm too angry to read you these lists.

And you're too high to care.

Trusting a Boy

Do not trust the boy who tells you he loves you,

even if it is all your heart was longing to hear.

Do not trust when he holds you close at night and fills your beautiful body with trust.

Do not trust when he calls you beautiful,

even though it'll make you smile at your reflection from then on.

Do not trust when he says don't go.

He'd leave the second he saw the door.

And he will.

And he will tear every last inch of hope you had to shreds with the shards of your own broken heart.

The shards that are too small to feel any resemblance to love.

He will walk away leaving you with questions and hot tears and despising mirrors

because you no longer feel beautiful.

He will leave you pathetic.

He will leave you broken.

He will leave you.

And he won't care.

Leaving

     She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in his chest. He smelled like smoke but she didn't care, it felt like home. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His brown eyes were looking at her with such worry in them she couldn't help but smile a little, "What's wrong?" The worry in his voice though, nearly brought tears to her baby blues. "Nothing," she said, short and quick, and not at all convincing. "Sarah..." he whispered her name with pain and desperation dripping from his voice. A tear fell down her cheek and onto his t-shirt. "I...I can't do this anymore," she barely choked the words out. She just kept repeating in her head that it was for the best. He pulled away from her and this separation brought a pang of pain to her previously damaged heart. Those brown eyes reflected her pain, "Why?" he finally asked. She had a reason, she truly did. But in this moment she couldn't bring herself to say it. She just shook her head, broke their eye contact and whispered, "I'm sorry," before leaving his bedroom that had begun to feel like home to her. But not before seeing the confusion and pain on his face. That image stayed in her mind until she sunk to her bedroom floor amid the cardboard boxes later that night. The only thing not packed in them was her heart, she had left that with him.

Laugh

Crawling back to him every time another boy admits to his lies.

Because at least he never lied.

He told her how little she was worth.

He told her he'd never love her.

He told her she was only there for the night.

Stop,

 you say,

 that's so sad.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Listen...

that silence is the sound of how many boys didn't lie to her.

Just laugh,

you tell her,

laugh it off,

Now she's laughing so loud you can't hear her heart breaking.

They can't hear her world shattering around her.

Her laugh drowns out the deafening sound of her pain.

So no one comforts her.

No one holds her.

Because she's strong.

She's okay.

So she calls him up and offers him her body,

the way boys should offer flowers to her.

He never says no.

His lust is the best comfort she can get.

Because she's okay.

Don't you hear her laughing?

Magic

Don't cry she commands herself.

He doesn't deserve your tears.

He doesn't deserve a single piece of your freshly broken heart.

But his words are on pause in her mind,

tearing through her wounds like a starving animal.

Ripping her apart,

destroying her mind,

just smile she begs herself.

Pretend you're happy.

Pretend you're okay.

Pretend every word he ever filled your yearning ear with meant nothing.

Pretend he meant nothing.

But without warning the floodgates open up.

Bursting with tears,

sobs shaking her fragile body,

the body he had once held so tight,

his arms holding silent promises to never let go.

The silence is heavy with a lie.

To her his eyes and his smile were magic.

Her broken heart was magic to him.

But shaking pathetically with aching sobs on the floor of her shower,

she doesn't feel any magic.