What the fuck is this 

The moon, and midnight stars, 

Are all that we are

The past, and resevoirs 

Sleep with our burning scars


Old/New Wounds

Blood spills from my own skin, from my own cuts, made with my own hands. 

It’s the anger, the hatred I hold over myself. 

But how can I be proud of myself when for so long, nobody was.

I was nothing in the eyes of my father. 

I was irrelevant in the eyes of my friends.

The loneliness turned to temptation, and temptation turned into scars.

And more scars.

The hurt feels right, Pain brings me back to my own body. The body I own, and I abuse. And the crimson distracts from the grey that paints my mind. The grey that one day will turn to dust.

The Art of Making Love pt. 2

They tell you your virginity is this sacred thing, and that sex has no reason but one. I never believed in saving myself for marriage, but saving myself for real, pure, honest- love. Because the thing with sex is that it can be more than just sex; 
with us, it is our minds intertwining with our bodies,
 two heartbeats becoming just one, 
four eyes seeing nothing but each other.
 It is dropping our guards, and forgetting everything they ever told us. There’s no shame, and no regrets. Maybe I am the lucky one, the one who got it right my first try at love. Nobody has ever been so close. He’s my first love, my first time. My lover who breaths in sink with the way my hips move in the early hours of the morning. 
His fingertips set fires on my skin, fires that will never burn out. Because we don’t just have sex, we make love.

Grateful waking up next to him everyday for the rest of my life

Love is more than I thought it could ever be. I was changed the moment we met. I’ve always been living in the darkness, I’ve always been broken. He came along and picked up all of the pieces i had scattered, we both know love can’t fix me, but oh how he tries. 

From all of the nights he appeared at my door, 2am in the cold, to only hold me through the night, to make sure that I made it to see the dawn break. 

From all of the words he wrote upon my skin to cover the scars and the deep wounds that covered me like tattoos 

He poured himself into me. And onto me. He covered me. And held onto every last hope I never had. 

I’m eternally grateful for this love. For his love. For our love. 

It was always you

His presence consumes me, even when he’s not around. I can close my eyes and see every detail of his beautiful sillouhette. i can feel every touch he’s ever felt upon my skin. I lay here in a feeling I’ve never felt until I met him. This isn’t poetry, and I know that. This is me writing my lonliness. Because my soul doesn’t know how to cope when he’s not around. And I know it’s not healthy, and I know it’s this terrible illness that forces me to believe that he’ll leave.

 He won’t. I repeat it over, because deep down I know it’s true. I’ve never met a person so genuine, so honest. I’ve never been loved the way he loves me. At night, when I’m in his arms, I feel safe.

 I feel at home.

I hate time

Sometimes you come around in my dreams at night, But I’m not sure if I can really call them dreams. You ask me how I’ve been, and I wonder where you went. But the conversation is always one sided. Me-to-you. 

You never speak up, and maybe that’s why the only place I see you now is not even real. 

I want to scream and yell. 


They hurt. 

I hurt.

This still hurts.

 The memories still bleed colours in the back of my mind. Purples, greens, soft soft blues. The times we spent laughing, and laying in bed all day talking about what we want out of life. The nights we spin around the kitchen to our favourite songs.

You never held onto that like I did. You never thought of how I’d feel, or if I was there at all.

But I’m here.

And I always have been.


Maybe you and I aren’t all that different,

In love with the same things,

We have the same demons that haunt us, and make us crave isolation. Maybe in another lifetime you and I would still be friends, we’d share our deepest secrets and cries.

But it’s not like that, even though we do love the same light, and the same darkness. So hear me out when I cry to you to let it go, and help me stop this obsessing.

Stop making me crawl out of my own skin because of a mind I don’t even know. Give me a chance to be free,

Give yourself a chance to find your way.