i was in the seventh grade
when i met a boy in a red shirt
whose voice sounded a lot like home,
and i remember hearing them say

“silly girl,
you’re only thirteen years old,
you don’t even know what love is!”

but who are they to judge
when their ancient bodies
have already forgotten
what it felt like to be yound
and electrified?

who cares if it isn’t their
dictionary definition of true love,
i’d still rather be young and clueless and trembling
with my veins pumping his name
over and over again
than having to spend the rest of my life
away from the only thing
i’ll ever love enough to call

the ramblings of a teenage girl

one of my favorite things in the world is the way i catch you smiling after we talk. there’s something so captivating about the way you smile to yourself when you think i’m not looking (but i am, i always am.) i have memorized the way your hair catches the rays of sunlight and how you hold your head up in class when you are too busy falling asleep to pay attention. i think that your eyes are windows that hold thousands of different galaxies within them and lately it has been killing me that one day i will no longer be one of them. you always saw things the way i did and i could have sworn our souls were tied together in another life. i find myself getting tired of love stories but i don’t think it’s possible that i could ever get tired of ours. we were never about red roses or cheesy valentine’s day cards or sloppy makeout sessions in the back of the movie theatre like the other kids, but that’s okay. shy “good mornings” and deep midnight conversations mean more to me than anything left in the world. you can write anything on a blank sheet of paper and call it poetry, but our story is not just a puddle of words and fractured sentences. it is not a menagerie of fancy words dressed up to look like they mean something, because our story is the epitome of beautiful. i understand that time is just the sad ticking sound of the lonely clock on the wall, but if a genie granted me three wishes, i would wish for more of it with you. forevers are always infinite and i know it’s hard for a girl like me to wrap her mind around a concept like that, but all i know is that i’ll never be ready to spend an infinity without you by my side.

to move on

my stomach sinks to my feet
whenever i think about you leaving me
and my mind is occupied
with the same haunting thoughts
of needing you to stay

i think of you as a thunderstorm
but i’d rather drown in your rage
than be forced to live without it

our fragile hearts are tied together
with a string of pinky promises
and when you finally leave me,
the best part of me will leave too