i vehemently loathe when writers cop out by excusing their lack of entry due to being uninspired…

as a writer your craft is being able to arrange words in a manner that a girl simply drinking from a cup could be romantic.

it is not that you’re not uninspired, it is that you’re not allowing yourself to be. 

this is true about virtually everything in life.

may our primary reasons for living be blissfully entangled.

since i met you i've confessed "you're so beautiful it makes me angry"
and we would laugh
and you would be so confused, i was confused too.
i never had an explanation...
until today.

i looked at you and i realized that it doesn't make me angry
it's just that
your the kind of pretty that's hard to look at.

and any look away from you is a look in the wrong direction.

12/16/12

how dare u say u miss me. how dare you say "i care"

i've lost all faith in finding strands of your hair.

there’s nothing better than you sitting on my lap, ur lips on my head and ur arms wrapped over my shoulders and mine wrapped around ur waist, pressing my face tightly to ur chest and listening to that heart beat that makes mine keep going. 

finding someone that makes you feel at home but still lights a raging fire in your soul is hard to find. so when you find it don’t let it go. 

home is where you sit on my lap and lay ur arms over my shoulders.

it’s where you rest your forehead on mine and look into my eyes.

it’s the loudness of the words unspoken in moments like those.

it’s when you brush your nose on my nose and smile.

that’s home.

I've spent years wandering bed sheets and casting one night stands like wedding bands to feel anything at all.

My eyes spill pensive vacancy, my battered hands are my diary. 
Read along with me, its a short novel and the chapters are all titled mistakes. 
Turn each page and everyone of them says I love her. 
What's my mistake then if its love? 
Love is not mistaken but it can be unwantingly profound. 
The same three words that give you life will make a person want to kill them self. 
I practiced how to kiss her a million times a day 
and would a million more to make it perfect.

 and its devastating  to know that she only kisses her once, she doesn't care if its perfect. 

its unfair to bleed wrist for perfection but I would carve perfection a million times if I could float on my bloodstream to her bedside.

change

If I had it my way, we would all own up to our problems and stop censoring them. So you’re a cutter, you shouldn’t have to wear long sleeves during the summer because of those judgmental ass-hats. Don’t apologize for what you had to do to make yourself feel better. Go ahead your supreme belimacy I’ll wait while you go to the bathroom in between courses. And to every person that shoves their fists into brick walls, lets put up sound proof booths around the cities so that people can learn to get it out and not hold all that pressure in. Because most of the time it’s simply scientific, it’s about transferring that energy onto something else. Sometimes our fists end up bloody and bruised but it’s just because there is so much pain trying to get through. 

If words could describe my love for you
they would fill every library
every museum.
there would be no documentation of how the world ended.

I hope that you like the way I write.

I hope that you understand.

because I'm not saying forever and writing it in the sand.

I'm carving it on the palms of my hands.

I'm pressing them to both of our chests.


Every breath means I love you.

I could cry rivers to far away countries and float on my back to the rhythm of your bloodstream. I could love you that much.



I do love you that much.

they say "i do" is the strongest way to say "i love you"
but i think the most powerful words are unspoken.
i think nothing could compare to the way i look at you.

wait

I would wait. sit in my car. sit at your bar.
I would wait and hold my breath and not speak.
those thinks have always been hard to do around you anyways.

So, I'll wait and watch the way you move
the way you light up a room.
the way your lips separate when you speak.
imagining you're saying "i love you too"
fearing that my heart beat could shatter the walls of this room.