the story

you were not a verse
or a stanza
or a meaningless jumble
of half-hearted words
and you were not just
the crossed-out name
in the back of my book

you were the ray of light
wedged between the pain
and how the colorful feelings
that decorated my mind
could never be put into words
no matter how hard i tried

you were never smudged gray
or ink stains on skin
and you were more than the substance
that spilled itself onto paper
because to me, you meant so much more
than a collection of words,

you were the story

teach me how to forget

i have gazed through this window
for three and a half hours now
as if the reason why you left
is hidden somewhere behind the trees
and i worry about you, endlessly-
with a painfully heavy heart
that threatens to spill out on paper

i have wondered about you
since the sun first kissed me
good morning,
but i don’t want to wonder anymore
(is it even love if you have to wonder?)

with a thump of bitter confusion,
i am strangled by my own questions
from a mind only cluttered
with thoughts of one person

i’ll let the sun disappear
as the moon kisses me goodnight
and tonight will not be the last night
that i’ll fall asleep with your face
engraved in my memory

i’ll let the stars cover me
and envelope the scars you left
from the words that escaped your lips
i’ll try to forget you tonight
and maybe tomorrow
i won’t have to wonder anymore

save me from myself

i’ve been waiting here
for an eternity
with an empty heart
and a face set in stone

the unforgiving thoughts
that pulse through my head
are not enough
to bring me back to life,
the beating in my chest
has been stolen,
and i am

the words you left behind
are no longer enough
to save me from


home used to be
a fire crackling,
the furnace roaring
the stack of books
piled up by my bedside
and home was the
creaking stairs,
my favorite hiding places
and the words i could not say
written gently on my wall-

that was home before

but who would’ve thought
that home could also exist
in the eyes of a beautiful boy
who hid my secrets
better than the space
behind the cupboard ever could-
who understood what was written
on my walls, engraved in my mind
even better than i ever could have

home used to be
the place i would run to
whenever the skies bled
in somber gray,
and i wonder why
i always end up running to you
every time