I didn’t have to know him long to know.
The first time he held me,
it wasn’t like stumbling onto foreign shores.
It was coming home.

Four months.
Four months of putting on lipstick that doesn’t look bad on the webcam,
of trying to watch the same movie in sync,
of you always laughing just a few seconds before I do.

Four months of empty beds and empty arms,
four months of counting miles when I should be sleeping.
Four months of dreaming of lonely highways,
of dissolving state lines,
of you,
of you,
of you.

Four months of missing you.
Four months of falling for you.
Four months of postcards from a city your bones have never known,
four months of scrawling,
“believe me, baby,
I wish you were here.”

Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.

You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.

You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.

You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.

Source: poppyflowerpoetry via sashas-alexander1
i will love her soft,
i will love her empty hands dreaming of her skin.
i will love her meek,
i will love her hushed.
i will love her.
four words that are scared to slip from my mouth on a whisper.
i will love her unyielding.
i will love her until the stars burn out.
Source: starved-boy via shatteringmindset
Anonymous:
When you're lonely and he's far away, how are you supposed to say I love you?

Shout it to the mountaintops. Keep screaming. He will hear eventually.

Anonymous:
Could you write a poem about a girl in love with her female teacher? The teacher has pale green eyes, light Brown hair and a boyfriend. The girl dreams about her every second but she knows she'll never have her love returned. Love your writing Xx

I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and I really don’t feel comfortable writing about this topic. I’m sorry.

I didn’t have to know him long to know.
The first time he held me,
it wasn’t like stumbling onto foreign shores.
It was coming home.
I should have never let myself be loved by you.

Not all men,
they say when I get jumpy after dark,
when I will not venture from the so-called security of the spill of streetlights.

Not all men,
they say when I wince as cars whiz by,
when I won’t wear a skirt if I have to walk to get there,
when I make myself androgynous before stepping out into the street.

Not all men,
they say when the memories are too much,
when I flinch under my boyfriend’s hands,
when I remember a stranger’s touch.

Not all men,
they say when I call them out,
when I show them that they are not as innocent as they would like to imagine themselves.

Not all men,
they say.

Not all men,
but oh god,
enough.

Enough.

We’ve said these things since I was young:
we claim “boys will be boys”
and tell girls “don’t provoke him,”
but now, I am afraid to walk the streets at night.
It is not normal to have your heart race when you’re walking and a car passes you on the street. I shouldn’t fear for my life when I am walking across campus to get back to my dorm. I shouldn’t fear for my life when I’m enjoying the night breeze after a hot summer day. I shouldn’t have to fear for my life because I am a female.

Not all men,
they say when I get jumpy after dark,
when I will not venture from the so-called security of the spill of streetlights.

Not all men,
they say when I wince as cars whiz by,
when I won’t wear a skirt if I have to walk to get there,
when I make myself androgynous before stepping out into the street.

Not all men,
they say when the memories are too much,
when I flinch under my boyfriend’s hands,
when I remember a stranger’s touch.

Not all men,
they say when I call them out,
when I show them that they are not as innocent as they would like to imagine themselves.

Not all men,
they say.

Not all men,
but oh god,
enough.

Enough.

Anonymous:
I have been writing prose and poetry for years. But it's only this year that I've become more serious on my craft. What do you recommend on building your vocabulary as a writer? Keep reading and writing everyday? I love your blog. You are such a talented writer! 😘

READ READ READ READ READ.
That’s all I can say towards vocabulary, really. I read a lot.

I understand that you do not want me, but that does not mean I will stop trembling at the sound of your voice.
I will love you quietly now.

I will keep these scribbled verses tucked out of sight,
I will sing to you under my breath.

When I see you,
I will not call out for you.
I will whisper your name like a prayer.

When my heart starts to pound against my ribs,
I will remind it why it is in a cage.
Hush, I will say,
hush.
I will love you quietly now.
I will keep this love raging inside me
until it burns out.