I tasted him like fresh morning,
And felt my lungs breathe again.
When I asked him about his favorite color,
He said there aren’t enough flowers for every time,
I made him smile.
I write poems about flowers,
But can’t manage to keep any alive.
I spent a whole summer not going to bed
Until the sun was up because I thought the dark,
Was trying to eat me.
And sometimes I wonder what we could be.
Even now, when I bleed,
I expect demons to seep out.
My days are arranged by color;
I’ve cried at too many sunsets
And not enough sunrises.
I asked him where he felt the love and he said,
In his fingertips.
Maybe that’s why it felt like Cigarettes,
Burning me every time he would touch me.
And still my skin feels as if it is on fire.
I won’t be content with my body
Until I can fit back in those shorts I wore last summer,
And I don’t mind looking at it in a mirror.
Home still feels like just another empty word I don’t fit into.
I tasted pain when I met him,
And I’ve never broken a bone
But I guess that’s my consolation price
For a jumbled mind.
At fifteen I’m still too small for most roller coasters,
But can still fit on most swing sets.
These days I sleep with lavender incense on my pillow
To try and keep the nightmares away.
I asked him if he believes in forever and he said,
He knows everything is temporary,
But so do I.
My heart is always straining against my rib cage,
and I think one of these days it might liquefy
and spill right through the cracks.