“My mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.”

I miss the sweat of september and the stickiness of the sheets.

Each night I sit at my windowsill like a wolf howling to the moon, hoping that somewhere you feel me calling to you.

Leave me like you mean it. My heart can’t keep waiting for you.

The future belongs to those who are brave enough to speak up about things that matter.

I think I’ll always remember your birthday and the way you took your coffee because they’ll forever be pieces of you I cannot burn.

We all show our true colors eventually – mine is dark and firesome red. I bet I burned you. I don’t expect to see you soon.

Faded secrets and old voices have built towns inside my heart. Thats were we still meet.

The sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.

The sky was crying so I wiped away her tears, just like all the times she did the same me.

Each time I fall back in love with myself, I leave my pen and paper behind. It isn’t personal, or maybe it is. I just a always thought that poetry was for the hurting.

I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?

In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.

I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.

You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.

Your name still tastes like poison in my mouth.

Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.

I think if I keep working in the way that I am, from the heart and from passion and with love, well, the fruits of that will keep coming.

Perhaps we were meant to end so this heart of mine learns how to love itself again.

It’s hard to breathe when she is not around.

The relationship you have with yourself affects all the others.

A hand that holds what the heart knows it must let go of.

When they break you; collect your broken pieces & bloom elsewhere. For you’re a flower in the land of those who love you.

I hope you find someone, who pours love like rain during monsoon, onto all broken parts of you.

The world kept breaking you and here you are- still soft, still loving, how strong of you to maintain your magic in a world where everyone loses their essence.