in Poems

~6 February 2018


This is for the boy
Who claims to love me
Whether emotionally or physically.
This is for the boy
Who wants to build a home inside of me,
With walls as thick as it can be.
Who wants to take bits of me
And keep it like a flower between pages of his favorite book.
Who wants to spin me like a globe
To discover pieces of me that even I don’t know.
This is for the boy
Who carries his heart in his palm
To create story that will make even Neruda blush.
This is for him.
This is for me. :

If there’s one thing that I may tell you
– Don’t.

I am not a graceful person,
I am not a Sunday morning,
Or a Friday sunset.
I am 10AM of Monday.
I am full of constant meltdowns.
I am mostly awkwardly sad.
The way light and darkness mix under my skin is similar to a storm,
A storm that can destroy anything and everything.
I am a shiny box revealing emptiness after you open it.
I am a glass of whiskey you can’t really stand.
I am disaster,
You can’t make homes out of humans like me,
For my life isn’t fire that can keep you warm,
Nor my arms have strength to be the walls.
I am a broken window in winters.
And terribly scared of spiders.
I am far less than perfect.
So don’t. :’)