I'm over it.

I've found someone new.

I have some different hobbies.

Damn-near forgotten about you.

But then you call,

and your contact hasn't changed,

or my smile,

or the way you say my name.

I did it without thinking,

muscle memory, really.

It doesn't change a thing,

it doesn't mean I still think of you dearly.

I saw you at the end of the hall,

for some reason, that brought a spark,

but you never noticed,

not even as it went dark.

You found me once again,

and we just seemed to fit.

Then, only for a moment,

I asked why this had to be it?

I swear that I've moved on,

but who am I kidding?

Lord knows I haven't,

but would it not be fitting?

So, for now, let's say I have.

That old habits die hard,

Because I can't control how I feel.

So, I will just have to keep up my guard.

Pale porcelain,

A thick dark mane

Slimmer than before

With tear-nourished lashes

And draped with silver

A beautiful sight you may agree,

But what if I got rid of it?

What if the porcelain breaks?

Or the hair thins and lifts?

What if the running slowed?

Or if there wasn't a reason to cry?

What happens when the silver tarnishes?

What if your favorite parts are temporary?

If all you liked is gone what is left to love?

I worked hard to keep my porcelain skin from burning and flaring up,

its work, but are you willing to be there when I can't bring myself too?

My thick dark hair is such a pain, hours of care and conditioning pain,

I fight with myself not to tear it all out when too much is going on.

I think back everyday to weight gone and the inches disappearing,

but what about the loss I took, my weakness growing and my clothes not fitting?

There's no need for mascara with my eyes framed the way they are,

I thank the nights of tears and hurt for that, but what happens when I don't want to fight?

My silver to keep me cool, shimmering in the light, enough to ignore it eating my skin

Maybe one day I can try on some gold, I want it to be okay to not be so cold.

What happens when I change?

Will I still "look good" enough to like?

you hardly touch your fries,

but you'll order them every time

i claim i'm not hungry,

but you say you have enough to share

when i forget about myself you still find a way to care

i find myself to be a kinder person when you are around

trying to make you laugh because it's my favorite sound

just to stay by your side as life gives you different things to endure

like the french fries at b's diner,

i'm better when i'm yours.

Today, I drove home with my radio all the way up, and the windows all the way down. And this time when you crossed my mind, I thought back to the first time. The time when you were right beside me singing along and smiling, back when all the songs sounded like love songs. And they were all about you.

Today, I drove home with my radio all the way up, and the windows all the way down. And this time when you crossed my mind, I turned to an empty seat. There was no other voice singing along, I laughed at the irony as tears rolled down my face, now all the songs sounded bittersweet. And they were all about you.

I love peonies.

I told you this a few times,

like when we walked past the flower shop on 2nd St.

Or at that one wedding, looking at the centerpiece.

I love peonies.

We would joke around about how you thought dandelions were better

I argued they were just pretty weeds

and would never be superior to peonies.

I love peonies.

You complimented my new perfume,

said it smelt like flowers.

It was peonie, but what you said was still true.

I love peonies.

I told you it's because they are so unique

that the flower still looks strong, even though it can be delicate.

You said just like me.

I love peonies.

You gave me a surprise;

you said it's my favorite,

and I'd surely love it.

You got me a bouquet of roses.

I love peonies.

She grows so vibrantly there, soft and sweet.

You know her beauty, so you plan to cut her by the stem,

And to strip her of her thorns.

It never mattered to you why she had them,

I bet it never even occurred to you,

That they were grown to stop what you'll eagerly do.

You want to wrap her with paper,

Hide any part you don't find appealing.

You will sell her out to whoever you please.

And it's the same if you won't,

Because either way, when she withers

She will be thrown away.

However, for now, she grows.

Vibrant, soft, and sweet.

While I pray she falls in love with a gardener,

Not a florist.

There is something about her that I wish I could adequately articulate, like how she is so soft and nurturing without needing to discredit her strength and thorns. She brings me peace, lets air into my lungs, and comforts me from the abrasive nature that so many others carry. She's the calm smile I somehow didn't like while I was younger. And she is the stains on my knees on summer days, just as much as the shoulder I lay on those same nights. She forever encourages me to move forward, leading me on in her approval.

She is the palette I wish to present.

Death Valley is where I live

I've been dry for so long

I don't remember a time my skin wasn't cracked

Death Valley is where I live

I've been hot for so long

Of course I have grown accustom to my weak body

Death Valley is where I live

I've been low for so long

Because this is the lowest point

And I live here.

Then one day I see you,

Death Valley is not where you live

You never have had to be

Dry

Or hot

Or low

Death Valley is not where you live

Your skin stays smooth and soft

But you still reached out for my hand

Death Valley is not where you live

Your limbs shimmer as sweat drips off them

But you still share with me your water

Death Valley is not where you live

You live somewhere in the mountains

Or in a town with every season

Or a city in a skyscraper

Or somewhere I know is beautiful

Then one day you see me,

Death Valley is not where you live

You were just passing through

You never had to be

Dry,

Or hot,

Or low

Death Valley is where I live

You saw me, and chose to stay

Now Death Valley is where you live

You can leave whenever,

However,

You let your skin crack and dry,

And your body is weak,

But even your lowest point, isn't as low as me

Some travelers say I stole you from the mountains,

Or a town with every season,

Or a city in a skyscraper,

Or somewhere that must have been beautiful

They say "Who drags their best friend out to Death Valley?"

I say "Why did you choose to stay?"