life among the starsInk runs through her veins more than blood. Her words dance through her mind faster than her fingers can comprehend. She loves too hard and cracks hearts like candy. She lives in the Milky Way, dancing on Saturn's rings and sleeping on the moon.More Like This
This is the world she lives in, far away from anyone else. No one can touch her heart or look into her eyes to find her soul. She's perfectly content living in her world of pretend with no one but the stars to comfort her.
It's a shame she has to wake up sometimes...
I don't MindI hate that phrase,More Like This
"If you don't mind",
the one that goes,
with the look that says,
I dare you to say no
I hate that sentence,
"If you want to"
you don't have a choice
I hate those words,
you have an option
If you don't mind,
I dare you to say no,
If you want to,
You really don't have a choice
You never really had an option.
I hate those phrases,
The ones that expect,
Why of course I don't mind
Why Can't You Hear Me?Your heart is dead.More Like This
No it's not.
You're lying in a coffin.
What are you talking about?
My tears fall on your face.
They're cold on my skin.
I sob and walk away.
Please don't go.
My heart is broken.
Why can't you hear me?
The coffin is closed.
Wait, I'm still among you!
They lower you into the ground.
I'm not dead!
I never see you again.
I love you.
Poetry,She is stardust leaving sweet bonesMore Like This
in her wake. A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions
with kisses. There is a hunger in her
freckled constellations, like spider webs
woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks backboned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page
left to rest in your mouth.
Dear Poetry,You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.More Like This
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, slowly and then…all at once.