“Of all the lies I’ve lived, and all the lies I’ve been told, the lies I told myself hurt the most.”

No matter how astray the becoming might be, I’ll never search for the old in me.

Perhaps their voices never leave us and we spend our lives fumbling for quiet corners where we can hear them most.

Lay your head on mine and let me breathe you instead of air.

Refrain from giving pieces of yourself to those who get close, for people leave, and gifts that are given cannot be returned.

I’ve experienced departure far too much to have the courage and call anyone my own.

You’ll roam the world and come to realize: It’s all in you, to be free or not to be.

We reshape our memories into uglier versions because it’s hard to forget them while they’re still beautiful.

This is face blindness, but not really it. Among all the faces I see, I could only see yours.

I’ve always had a fear of endings, but it comes as relief to me that among all the dying things, I am one too.

Where once there were a few houses between us, now there are seas.

I close my eyes and I see you. I open them, and I’m blind.

You float underneath my eyelids – a dream I never seem to get enough of.

If there’s anything I’ve learnt so far, it’s that to love others, you should give them space to breathe.

And it scares me that if I ever get my wings, I might not know where to fly to.

I am grieving a connection that never really happened, a dance of souls that only lasted one day.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to break me, you can always tear the pages of an open book.

Snow relies on branches much like I rely on love but snow knows how to let go and I know how much it hurts.

There’s this thing that hurts inside me all the time. Because I know what’s coming.

This is the residue of sin on planet earth. Things are broken. People are hurting. The night is here. Darkness is upon us. Yet shining in the night is a Savior, and He has come to shine on you.

Let’s never try to get even with our enemies, because if we do we will hurt ourselves far more than we hurt them. Let’s do as General Eisenhower does: let’s never waste a minute thinking about people we don’t like.

I compare myself to the leaves; dead, yet dancing in the breeze. Is it meant to hurt this much, falling from the trees?

I see you try to hurt me bad. Don’t know what you’re up against. Maybe you should reconsider; come up with another plan. Cause you know I’m not that kinda girl. I’ll just get back up again.

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.

Stop blaming love when it’s people who hurt you.