I bet you’ll never know the sound that skin makes as you rip it apart, or the peace of mind that
I could write a poem about every square inch of your skin. I could write a poem about every breath
I have so many scars. So many. Too many to count. And all I can think is, “How can someone love me,
I am lost and confused I wonder what will become of me I hear laughter I see smiles I want to know how to be happy lik…
I find it funny that even though I’ve never slept next to you, I still feel the empty spaces where you’re supposed to fit.
It’s amazing how empty a hand can feel after holding someone else’s. But after holding your hand,
I look at you, and I see you. I see your skin and it sends shivers
We are like stained glass windows; Beaten and broken, in order to be pieced back together,
It would be my honor, to kiss those lips of yours though they’ve left many bruises. To hold those hands of yours,
You don’t love me, but that’s okay, I understand. It only makes sense. Someone like you, so beautiful,
Being a poet is not simply being g… It is much more than that. Writing poetry is something that y… A poet is something that you are. We see the world not as a bunch of…
When I look toward the future, honestly, I see hardships and pain and uncertainty.
I need someone to sneak up behind me, grab me by the hand, and pull me along beside them.
I’ve been putting off writing abou… you for months now. I didn’t want to do it, because I felt that
I am determined to be a woman that wakes up every morning with the fire in her eyes
