The Places We Belong

I sit on the roof of this apartment - where I am not allowed, losing myself in the ethereal stars. The smoke from the cigarette dangling from my lips, making shapes as it rises towards the heavens.

How I wish you were here with me to form poetry from the stars and stories in the smoke. The perfect scene- how picturesque.

However, quite lonely when I sit here reminded of how you would enjoy this aesthetic perch, snapping memories with your camera and scribbling in your notebook as much as I.

Your poetic thoughts - my inspiration as they always have been.

We must visit soon.

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The Grey

Why must people always have to be either good or bad? What if I was a good girl with bad tendencies or a bad girl who did good things? Must things always be placed in little boxes? What about those who do not fit into any box? What happens to them?

And I'd Burn It Down Again

You built a house out of the bad thoughts rushing through your head and I tried to burn it down but you got caught in the flames. If it’s any consolation, I like the way you look with the tips of your hair singed off. I’m sorry your mother won’t.

My Late Confession

Maybe you light up my day. Maybe you make me smile through the darkness in my head. Maybe you make my stone cold heart beat again. Maybe you woke up the butterflies in my stomach and make them dance every time you touch me. Maybe I like you a hell of a lot more than I've let on but maybe I'm afraid to be close. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to lose you.

Rewriting The Stars

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