A collection of haiku.

how long can I stay yours? a collection.

he makes everything better. semi-chronological collection of little poetry blurbs. dedicated to my boy and his wonderful self.

playing in gasoline - FootstepsToNowhere - littlest clouds - writerlike - lights over sounds

This is my life: the ending of the beginning.

Because sometimes love isn't enough.

old things that were and new things that may be. a pillow book, but more rhythmic.

three words that are hard to say

Care to let me go?

one hundred billion stars in the galaxy, and we have one to share. for sarah.

and you just stand across the yard from me.

even lightning can't shatter our electric love.

at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet. pillow book.

this poem is rather...sexual.

if only I was beautiful.

i would kill to write like you, would live to kiss like you

i'm not okay.

...i'm pretty, right?

and tattered pages

and a little to late for a get away

where we hang our yesterdays

sometimes, words come best when they are preprinted on magnets, and all you have to do is rearrange them to express the hurt. until someone misreads, and misconstrues, and wants to know whats up. and they have no idea.

i don't feel like watching stars die tonight.

let us dance across the constelations.

my body fights a losing civil war.

now it can be free.

underneath it all...

and you just held my hand.

with any luck, we will.

and I'm not so sure anyone can help you, now. -poetic pillowbook of sorts-

maybe i need to start writing from the middle

the reflection in my eyes a whole other world

we hug like a double helix.

did you remember to close their eyes?

she's lookin' for the boy with the biggest

I know I can't come back.

her addiction is you.

we are defined in what we do and what we love; ink cannot capture who we are.

Porous power pours pork porridge.

it doesn't have to be true, just real.

she is still just a strange little girl, playing the game of you.

your jargon, it's everywhere; bleeds my skin dry.

Palpitating gonads work overtime as gods to create enough sperm to impress ovum’s into creation. A biting, thrusting scream."

the reflections of a girl

love changes everything.

tonight we’ll collide like the stars.

Written for creative writing class. I wrote one similar to this a few years ago but I fixed it/rewrote it.

but you're lying… down, my vines binding you to the forest floor where i mark my territory – you sweat the shapes of snakes as my mouth crumbles & rises, working savage magic to remove their venom.

you stole the words out of my mouth. would you stoop so low?

a collection of prose vignettes

COLLECTION “lying in my bed, i hear the clock tick and think of you.”

we walk there together hand in hand. soul sisters.

and all the old poems I wrote for you are just ghost stories.

always falling prey to the cheetah boy

This is it now, ballerina.

this is where you get off and never come back.

My stuff from oneword - check it.

just a progress report in collection form. c: read and review!

it's okay to just let things be

It's been forever since I posted but here it goes... Please read and review, Thank you :-

crushed violets, wet velvet, dying

and take me with you.

beautiful lies from beautiful lips...

This is in the love section because it's about loving yourself and your body. Or at least accepting yourself. Here's a little secret between you me and the internet, sometimes I agree with 'Nothing tastes as good as thin feels'. And that scares me.

a modern romance, set to the beat of our hearts.

is buried beneath his loveliness.

you could learn a thing or two from a plastic mannequin.

A poem I wrote the other day. It's no work of art but, I suppose it doesn't suck. lol. Lemme know what you think.

you were the first; i was the second. he got bored with you. he wanted me. but he really only ever loved you.

I remember how it used to be.

has no time for romance.

He's a star swallower with my name on his lips...

pantoum: this is just another nightmare i can't make a song

100 poems -- collection.

forget

I'm spinning out of orbit. it's midnight, and gravity is only a lunar dream.

from a girl who is green

Just so you know, if it comes to choosing sides, I choose the ocean.

narcissism

listening to Bush makes me think of touching your body.

It was never meant to be this way.

Behold, a quick and easy guide on how to get a girlfriend. Now with advice on how to snag that loveliest of lovelies, the fangirl! Enjoy.

ONE SHOT. Remy's boyfriend Matt is perfect in every way except one: he has an infuriating best friend named Jack who just loves to bother her. "Do you think I find joy in the fact that all I can ever think about is you, no matter how hard I try not to?"

He has no idea what he did to make her angry. Fluff.

and laughter is forever tattooed on my placid lips.

a conversation

the lovers

The drift, part 3. It's 575 but I've played a bit with the format.

they call it suicide but he calls it murder. "she was going to be my drug induced ecstasy." -experimentation-

no one else does either.

looking at you, holding my breath, for once in my life, i'm scared to death, i'm taking a chance, letting you inside lifehouse

where is it that i can find you?

am I at fault for hating a thief?

Silver shines too.

baby, i will be your butterfly girl, your curie, your wendy, your lullaby, and i stare at your lips too often.

You've always strived for perfection.

Smile for the camera.

i fell in love with a boy who had calloused hands and an easy alligator smile. i fell in love with a boy who fell in lust with everyone.

i fall in love with the other bus patrons when i'm bored.

watercolor poets blur, but their words are etched like acrylic on my canvased mind.

it's the number i hate, the hours i can't sleep away. one day. one year. you are everything, but you don't know how tangled i still am. REMOVED.

[I'm not going to cry anymore]

You aren't the woman I thought you were.

somewhere...

the poetgirls are striking back, scarred limbs and messy hair have never been so beautiful.

about how truth or intended messages can be lost in poetry. at least in MY poetry, anyway...

with a name like vegas, she never had a chance.

and everyone holds their breath for him.

he likes the sea, he's like the sea.

she's a cancerous addiction, and all she asks (is that you save her until it's finally time for her to save herself.)

we collided, and now we're hurtling to Earth at the speed of love.

you never see a chicken soaring towards the stars.

-complete-Unrequited love, vodka shots and guitar chords. The porcelain tale of two splintered teenagers unfolding just what it means to truly need someone.

Rated for underlying meanings. Sometimes you need to through it all away, even society

mercutio DROWNS in mab's lies hair caught in chariot spokes dragged along the streets. GRATEFUL he dies. consuming phosphorus it thrashes between his bones, mutilates his heart with longing

hold it down.

i was never the type to write near the candelight.

and completely thundered. [edited]

an old story. hearts [s2]

peter pan stories.

haikus.

Romeo said now baby you know I love you somethin fierce.

betty bell was the real monster, not mary. (if you have no idea what i'm talking about, google it)

Sweet misery, strange love... smile,darling,smile.

(but we dont really believe her)

they say im a hopeless romantic.

concept poem. took me forever to edit and is probably still not the way i want it. inspired partly by don mc-clean and partly by ivan denisovich. ah, communism.