for every vase of mine you broke i sealed the pieces back together with gold

a poem is a piece of softness.

the inevitable result of damming your feelings behind porcelain

the right person will not need to be taught how to love you

the only way to avoid being bent out of shape is to be formless

am i really this difficult to love?

just because someone else may be hurting more does not mean your own pain does not exist

i am trying so hard to be enough for myself

because letting the pain in allowing it to smash through all the walls that you have carefully built then replacing them with windows is...

let us not waste ourselves attempting to decipher or justify what must remain, essentially a mystery let us channel our energies instead...