Honey Bees - 18 February 2016

You know it’s true what they say

That beauty may open doors

But they only lead you to cliff edges

Same rules, same game, new look

So like a bee submerged in honey

You’ll find me face down

In the consequence of my actions

Because I don’t want to play this game anymore

So beauty may open doors

But I’ve just found a new place to drown

You Move Mountains -- 16 November 2015

I just want you to touch me like you mean it

I need to know what’s real and what’s not

Don’t lie to me, or tell me what I want to hear

I’m so afraid that I’ll crumble with your touch

Because you move mountains

But you also crush people

You’ve got a one-track mind

And I’m afraid to be the price you pay for ambition

Maybe someday I’ll get a happy ending

Instead of another lesson in bad intuition

Shards -- 16 November 2015

Just because I see the stars in your eyes
And you glow like the sun

Doesn’t make the world revolve around you

Your voice may be melodic

And you look like the love child of the universe

I know that I can say lovely things

And I know how to turn a phrase

But never romanticize your lovers

It’s a long fall from the pedestal

And nothing hurts worse than the shards of your own poetry

Kissed into skin turn to broken promises in your mouth

These are the things I wish I learned sooner

Because if I did

I wouldn’t have shattered you

And left myself with scars

She’s Big Snowflakes and Being Out in the Woods and the Color Green

She’s big snowflakes and being out in the woods and the color green. She is the crack of bonfires and shooting stars and mountains. She’s the sound of thunderstorms in May and wet socks in rain boots from splashing in puddles. She’s learning, different cultures, and the smell of old books. She’s her love of history, her refusal to eat nothing but German chocolate, and ice cream. She’s warm blankets and the comfort of being surrounded by people she cares about. She is sunrises and puppies and kitties and general warm fuzzies. She’s nerdy puns and people who aren’t afraid to be who they want to. She’s confidence and awkwardness and flying elbows while dancing. She’s twinkle lights and the north woods and warmth.

She is nothing if not dramatic.

You want to give her the world as her stage.

He’s the Glue on Your Hands Right Before You Peel It Off and Old Books

He’s the glue on your hands right before you peel it off and old books. He’s the sound of sneakers on a gym floor and the glow-in-the-dark prize from deep inside the cereal box. He’s the smell of pencil shavings and old crayons and the hair tie that gets stuck in your hair. He’s an orchestra tuning and a soda can opening. He’s relief and nostalgia and hysterics and guilty pleasures. He’s every scar with a story and peeing after holding it all day. He’s the squeak from fresh cheese curds and mint ice cream and the feeling of paint squishing through your fingers. He always guesses the ending of a murder mystery wrong. He’s the shivers from a perfect song and getting a back massage. He’s the feeling of someone else’s hands running through your hair and impromptu water balloon fights.

He’s the summer vacation you always dreamed of.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

Spun Sugar -- 1 August 2015

I can taste the distance in your kiss
And feel the discontent in your fingertips
Never thought love to be as fickle as the breeze
Seems like I have so much I don't know
You always said that I was spun sugar
Held together by questions and surgical tape
But before you always said it with a semblance of a smile
I was always afraid you'd leave me for something solid
Now I'm afraid you'll leave me for nothing at all

She's Foreign Adventures and Leather Boots and Rock Climbing

She’s foreign adventures and leather boots and rock climbing. She’s digging up dead people and their things and Indiana Jones. She’s sweat, exhilaration after a workout, and fresh manicures. She’s eating until you hate yourself and the laugh she makes when it’s suggested that she has a parasite. She’s the need to speak her mind, and the judgment when you do something stupid. She’s black coffee and maps and cats.  She’s playing the same song over and over until everyone who spends any amount of time with her knows all the words. She’s the color black, the vast emptiness of space, and colonizing the moon. She’s anxiety and panic attacks, but needing to look fierce even when she’s falling apart because some part of her life has to be put together.

She may be held together by duct tape, but she won’t let that stop her.

You never thought that it would.