“She tasted like wildflowers; crushed, wet wild flowers carried in sticky palms through farmers’ fields, just before dawn.”

They build ladders from my spine and they climb and they fall and they break me, and they climb again.

Sometimes love is nothing more than a sticky web; illusions spun, from clever minds and bitter hearts.

There is no greater power than that of the sun, the moon, and a woman who knows her worth.

I have God in my words and the devil in my ear, and a sister who keeps telling me to find my magic.

You load your words as I bare my chest, and this will be the most beautiful death.

Poetry is the loveliest art. It has a wretched way of revealing our own character when we think we are judging the poets.

I have known love and I have known loss, but in the end, they both looked a lot like you.

I write because suicide is no longer an option.

Too many times I have given this heart away, I am afraid it is no longer mine.

I think I saw you again in the moonlight tonight, and I swear I could taste the hints of it alll.

On paper I have killed you a thousand times but my heart disregards clever words.

He left love letters at my door, and a chalk outline on the highway.

How recklessly we turn from strangers and blindly back to lovers, to nothing.

He was all dangerous eyes and beautiful lies, but I ached. for him to lie to me some more.

Some souls were never meant to be content.

I like you here, between commas, where the only thing you can break now, is my lines.

You are as beautiful as a blooming flower.

And when instead of flowers your heart grows thorns – that’s when you know it does not love.

Hear the universe sing with every shooting star, blooming petal, and pines in the wind- Love will find you.

The world was expecting her to be a beautiful flower. Society behaved in such a way that turned her into a fierce sword.

And like flowers under the sun’s yellow rays, you will bloom again.

Memories frozen and denied Flowers of my heart withered and dried.

Violets are blue, you have no clue how much I love you.

From all the flowers on the earth, she preferred to be a cactus-to bloom for the one, to push away the rest.