this is writing. enjoy?

can you paint with all the colors of the alphabet? ∞

[unlockwords]

Shells

I shattered the seashells you found

when we were walking along the shoreline, dipping toes

into foam and salt. I’d pocketed them happily but

I was careless, and the next time I reached for them

they were nothing but sand dust.

I didn’t mean to, like we all don’t mean a lot

of things, like how I never mean to ignore you

or act like I don’t care. Sometimes we just crush the seashells,

take a mindless wrong step, a forgetful wrong turn.

In this case, is it the thought that counts?

I think to myself that I’ll find the best

seashells for you next time, I’ll keep them safe and save

them for a special day. It’s the worst way to break

something when you do it accidentally – how do you

apologize for that, anyway. I’m sorry,

I didn’t mean to break your heart.

Luckily for me, the ocean’s got a thousand more

to share. At least I don’t have to go about saying

I’m sorry, I shattered these shells.

[unlockwords]

The truth is,

I'm not a princess, and I don't like

your shining armored knight on white

horses trick, the I'd-do-anything-for-

you-just-fall-in-love-with-me shit. 

Just because I write poetry, it doesn't

mean I want to be romanticized by

some Prince Charming wannabe. 

Look, I don't need saving. No 

cheesy love songs or waltzing

in ball gowns until the clock strikes

twelve. If you want to be

some sort of hero, trust me,

you've got the wrong girl.  

[unlockwords]

Three shooting stars

I saw three shooting

stars in one night, and

I thought it meant that all

my wishes would come

true. I thought it meant

some sort of endless

happiness, like the kind

that you see in movies,

or the kind you hear about

in old favorite bedtime

stories. But happiness isn't

like that, it's not static, never-

changing; happiness is like

a tree or a garden that

changes with the weather.

And when the leaves 

changed color, I looked to 

the stars again, looked for

the patterns that were now

so familiar, and they told me

that my wishes are not 

granted by them, but that

wishes are what you make

of them. 

[unlockwords]

Once upon a time, he stared

into the mirror, and

what he saw staring back was not a reflection

of his heart. 

Eyes that could bring a snowstorm, 

(32 degrees Fahrenheit, 0 everywhere else),

teeth that bared but never smiled -

expressionless, emotionless, with the occasional 

hot-tempered sneer.

They set up Danger signs, and Keep Aways,

he was isolated in an imaginary castle, so alone he could hear

his poor heart beating, and had not even talking candelabras to 

light his way at night. 

He once dreamed of enchantresses and falling rose petals, 

but he woke up to a worse nightmare, and he stopped looking

into mirrors, 

for not even a mirror, mirror could tell him how

to break his curse. 

His heart yearned for a tale as old as time, 

but it was broken every time,

for who could ever learn to love a beast?

[unlockwords]

Your love is not a tragedy

Your love is not defined by the hearts that broke

or the words that sounded harsh against your skin,

abrasive against the four chambers

that pump your feelings through your veins.

Your love is not defined by the sudden distrust,

the arguments in the middle of the night,

the false accusations,

nor the accurate ones.

Your love is not defined by all the times you cried,

even though it was the last thing you wanted to do,

as they said "You are better without him"

and you said "But I can't live without him"

- that is not your love.

It did not end as you pleased, and

you took the broken pieces, like shattered mirror glass,

staring right back at you, 

and you called it your love.

This is what it came up to,

after all,

the lies, sighs, and broken ties

- but that is not your love.

Your love is the first time you made him smile,

and the first time he teased you, 

and you didn't want to,

but you smiled back.

Your love is the time you couldn't stop thinking about him, 

like he took over your brain, 

and your lungs, 

and your muscles, 

and your four chambers, 

pumping ecstasy through your veins. 

Your love is all the times you took his hand in yours

and you thought about how nicely they were shaped, and formed

and you realized

that hands are made for holding,

just like how

our brains are made for thinking about him,

our lungs are made to breathe in his smell, 

our muscles are made to hold him close,

and our four chambers are made

to love him.

Your love is not a tragedy, 

it did not die, like the way your feelings for him did,

as they crumbled into pieces

you kicked on the ground.

Your love is still alive,

though it doesn't feel like it

- it is still in your veins,

coursing through your arteries,

telling you with every pump,

I-am

right-here

for-you.

Because maybe your love was not made

for another person,

maybe your love

was made

for you. 

And it is not a tragedy, for you will find it

in your brain, your lungs, your muscles,

and in those four chambers,

with every pump,

for-you

for-you

for-you.

[unlockwords]

I hope you learn to love yourself one day, just one goddamn day, you'll look in the mirror and think, "I love you."

And that'd be enough. No lust, no hurt, no broken hearts. No boys smiling at you like they don't know it kills you, no hidden secrets or broken bonds left in the middle of Unrequited Feelings. No apologies. No lies. 

Just some self-acceptance, appreciation, adoration, love. 

You are always enough. 

[unlockwords]

we drove through the roads past midnight with the windows down, wind blowing and feeling alive. pulled over at a bridge, where you could see the skyline of the city, gleaming magnificently over the river, against the backdrop that was the pitch black sky.

there was nothing more nostalgic than this city that we loved, where we loved.

wow, she breathed as if she was seeing this for the very first time.

"it just never ceases to amaze you, huh?”

she smiled and said, she doesn’t get tired of beautiful things.

i looked at her and said, me neither.

[unlockwords]

Creating art

I don't know why, but sometimes at night I am overwhelmed with intangibles that need to find a way out. I can't even explain how good it feels to splatter yourself into something that can be defined, despite how vulnerable it makes you. It feels like you've leaked a hole in your pressurized heart, and let the blood that cruises your veins draw circles onto blank canvases. You might feel so exposed, but life is never exciting behind closed doors. Do you know the feeling? Like the entire world is in your grasp. With a stroke of a pen you could let a piece of you become a piece of something else, and that something else is what you will present the world, because it is your present to the world. Maybe they won't all look at it the same, maybe they will redefine it with their words and their sight, but there isn't a correct answer to the question you've posed and nothing can be described completely in one opinion, after all. I swear with all my heart to store nothing but genuine truths in every 'something else' I create, so when another turns in around in the palm of their hands, paints close observations with their steady eyes, maybe they too can feel what I feel, taste what runs through my veins and recognize my vulnerability. Maybe they will unlock a door or two, or even just a window, and pick up the broken pieces of themselves to make something else. Maybe they will try and understand that sometimes when you are unshielded you will feel less pain.

[unlockwords]

It was mid-February, but in her mind winter was already a distant affair.

She'd told herself in September,

when the first chill in the air seemed to say the sun had grown tired,

that she would not let the seasons throw her around like she was

a ragged doll.

So she puffed warm air into the icy atmosphere for three long months,

and tried not to mind her cold toes in the mornings;

the sun still set a little early for her taste, 

and so she became closely acquainted with the dark.

It wasn't so bad.

But by the second month of the new year,

she still wore layers and woolen hats,

but her mind had left this desolate place.

She was dreaming of early sunrises and summer storms,

or simply cracking open a window to let refreshing air in.

She heard talk of an upcoming snow storm,

but to her it sounded foreign, because her mind was bathing by the pool,

dancing in the sun. 

Maybe, she thought.

Maybe soon. 

[unlockwords]

She’d lost her own opinions. She was either too apathetic or too kind to even consider the fact that someone could have a wrong opinion, ever. She was just too flexible, like rubber. People punched holes into her. She forgave them. When given two things to choose between, she was indecisive to the point where she just didn’t know what to do. It seemed that she’d dropped into the hole of nothingness and there seemed to be no way back out, not even a rope to cling to or a wall to lean against. She was utterly alone. And she might’ve even hurt herself on the way down; she felt broken. Like glass. But she wasn’t sharp, she had no shape or form, no edges to cut any careless passerby. She was more like sand. You could pour her into a jar and she would take its form. You could pick her up but she’d just slip through your fingers. If you add a bit of water, you could shape her into whatever you want. But after you leave, the wind will come and soon she’ll fall back into a shapeless pile until the next person stops by. 

[unlockwords]

I am dreaming

of a memory

that has not yet happened. 

It is not just another expendable fantasy,

a flimsy what-if.

I am in the place that I love,

the air is warm on my skin, 

There is the sound of people

and cars,

the smell of good food,

a smokey-sweet taste in the atmosphere.

And when I saw your face,

I think my heart

skipped a beat. 

[unlockwords]

There was something I wanted to say, but it's been lost in my thoughts, disappeared in the tangles of incoherence that flit through my mind like excited butterflies. People talk about butterflies in their stomachs, but I've never felt such things, maybe I've downed a moth or two, but never butterflies. They say it'll be the best time of your life when you fall in love for the first time, but they never say anything about the second time, or the third. What happens after you've loved and loved and loved again? Do we keep loving, like the monotonous robots that we are, or maybe we stop loving, because human logic seems to say that if one thing doesn't work out, nothing ever will. Maybe all that we know will one day be lost in the void, who is to say that anything ever goes wrong? 

I never understood why one heart is never enough to keep something alive. 

[unlockwords]

"Did you fall in love with me?" He asked her suddenly, stopping them in their tracks. He had seen the way she looked at him, the same way he used to see her look at the sky. 

"I wouldn't call it love," She said, keeping her eyes locked with his. She was fearless.

"What is it then?"

"Infatuation, maybe? Admiration?" She tilted her head thoughtfully.

"You admire me?" He asked rather incredulously. 

"Yes," She replied curtly. "Why do you sound surprised?"

"Because I'm useless. Why would you admire me?"

"I once met a lady who admired the stars," She said, smiling and turning to the sky, at all the glittering sprinkles that dotted the vast black canvas above their heads.  "She said she didn't care if people thought they were useless, that some thought they hung on the sky solely for aesthetically pleasing purposes, or that most other people neglected to acknowledge their existence anyway. The stars never failed to shine bright every night, despite what insignificant human specks thought or said about them. Because who knows, for some planet out there, they could be the sun. They could be the one thing that brings light and brings life, and for that one planet they will shine as long as they can. It's really quite admirable."

There was a short silence as he processed how to respond to this. "You think I'm like one of those stars?" 

"Of course," She said. 

"I don't shine for any planet though," He said. "No one relies on me like the earth does to the sun."

"Well, I've always wondered," She said. "Does the sun know of the earth's existence? Does he rise and set for us, like we think he does? Or does he simply shine his light regardless, in hopes that someone out there will feel warmth from his rays?"

"Maybe the sun doesn't shine for anybody," He said. "Maybe he shines for himself."

"Maybe he does," She said, smiling at him, as if he'd just solved a mystery. "He shines for himself, but in doing so, his light reaches others. Don't you think that's admirable?"

He shrugged, she smiled, and they walked on. 

[unlockwords]

Before,

I didn't care much for 

the routine of this world 

because I resided in a completely

different reality. 

For all I cared, the sun

didn't have to rise in the east.

The stars

didn't have to align themselves

just right in the sky.

I thought, who needs a sky

when you have your dreams to

take you

higher?

But

for you, I wanted that sky

I wanted the stars

to shine for us,

the sun

to rise for us.

~

Before,

they told me c-a-t spelled cat,

two plus two was four,

and I drew dandelions all over 

my test papers.

But now I sit and learn

to spell out words

to spell out my feelings.

For you I added 

two plus two,

me plus you.

~

I didn't like rain,

so I pretended it

didn't exist. 

But when you told me

your favorite song was

the raindrops,

I brought out my umbrella

for you.

I left my dreamland 

to live in a world

where you lived in

too.

[unlockwords]

sick day off

Having a fever Is not so bad Having people worry for you, care for you, check on you every once in a while, It's not so bad When they ask how you are feeling Genuinely wanting to know It feels good Even if your answer is always the same ("I'm okay.") Sometimes, I think What we all need the most  Is just a sick day off What's important is not school, is not work, is not trying to achieve this or that to impress him or her All you have to worry about, for the time being, Is your health Is getting better And all you have to do Is sleep well (we all know how much  you like to do that) And take tylenol And drink lots of water (So you could basically be as lazy as you want) Tomorrow is another day Today, worry about  today It's comforting, however uncomfortable you might feel Having a fever Is not so bad at all

[unlockwords]

She'd once been in love.

Seventeen years of age, long black hair, skinny ankles, skinnier wrists. She spent too much time picking out outfits for school at night before going to bed, too much money on lip glosses and perfumes at the drug store. Those were the days when she was vulnerable, just a young girl with a wandering mind and little ambitions. Those were the days when she thought she knew everything. She was whole and planned never to be broken, and she believed the whole world was at her fingertips. 

He'd once fallen, as well. 

Green eyes, cold hands, and a smile that hardly ever left his face. He was not ready for love as it was not ready for him. He was everywhere, all the time. Dropping by Starbucks quickly in the morning before the warning bell rang, sitting in three different seats at the cafeteria in one lunch period, on the track field after school, in the library later, and at the mall after that, at the community center and the smoothie shop and cruising down the intersection towards his next destination, wherever that was. He never meant to fall. He never had time for such things. 

But he did, she did, and she was scared she would never be enough and he wondered why she sometimes pretended not to see him, but then he took her hand one day and she let him, and the world was perfect for three months. In April they shared umbrellas and studied together at the coffee shop, quizzing each other on organic chemistry over a nice cup of mocha frappacino. In May they woke up early to walk to school together, even though it was a long walk, they never ran out of questions to ask and mysteries to solve. In June they took a day trip to the city and they stayed til nighttime. There were no stars but the world was bright as ever and he got out his guitar and they laughed and sang until the sun came up. 

And in July two hearts were broken. 

By September her hair was shorter, her eyes were a little darker, and she'd tossed out all her old perfumes and picked out her outfits in the mornings now. She walked with purpose but her confident steps did not reflect how very scared she was, how even the kindest people could seem to her like a threat. And she finally had her goals set straight but her mind set wild; there were too many thoughts for her to sleep at night and too little caffeine to keep her awake in the morning.

His eyes had become paler, his smile was careful and his laugh was still lovely yet sometimes off-key. He was in Starbucks even more than before, but not much anywhere else. He still played his guitar, but only ever at night, when there was a cool breeze and all the stars were out. He'd noticed that the sky was the brightest thing at night, and learned all the constellations in a week and a half and sang to the stars everything he could hide behind his smile. 

And this was the way they were the next time they would fall. 

And a different person the next, and the next, and the next.

But she would always remember his contagious smile and his adventurous spirit, he would remember her pretty laugh and innocent mind, and they would stay like that forever, frozen in memory, laughing together late at night by the streets in the city, existing only together in that moment for eternity. 

[unlockwords]

Why do you think it is that the sun sets every evening, but comes back the same way every morning? Do you think it is because of routine, because the world is set in this endless cycle; with each daybreak and nightfall, do you think it will always be that way? 

One day the sun will not rise. You will be left confused in the dark, thinking perplexing thoughts and drawing uncertain conclusions. You will wonder--as we all will at one point in our tireless lives--how many things have you taken for granted? How many mornings have you woken up to without thanking the sun? How many steps have you taken without thanking the earth? How many stars have you counted without thanking the skies?

How many. The answer is, as it is for all of us, a lot. But it doesn't change much, really, because the things you know and love are also the things you leave unacknowledged. They are the things you forget though they stand in plain sight, willing you to remember. And until the day the sun does not rise, they remain hidden from your shallow sight, holding your life together as if with invisible thread, waiting for the day they will wither and break. You will be surprised and you will wait and hope and wait some more, but the unmistakable truth has settled like dust; the sun has finally set for good.