little bits

+ 

don't tell anyone, but i sold my soul to the wildflowers

+ 

i kissed the sharp air goodbye and my lungs filled up with sticky sunny heartachy feelings of this time last year; you are alive

+ 

maybe it's more than just mutual trust and holding hands in the dark and forehead kisses; i think, maybe, it's also spilling hearts on the wooden floor in the afternoon and a light dusting of flour on my sweater and blisters on your fingers from plucking flowers a little too hard; but, maybe i'm wrong, billions of people have spent thousands of year trying to figure out what love is, so how could i possibly know

+

the world is not a kind place, so please, baby girl, don't be like the world

+

     TRYING TO STAY ALIVE

LIKE NEON SIGNS

AND TROUBLED CHILDREN

AND INDIE MUSIC FESTIVALS AND

ENGLISH MAJORS WITH

DYSLEXIA AND HIGH SCHOOL

DROPOUTS AND TXT TLK W/O

CELL (PH)FONES WHAT

EVEN IS THE

                                       MEDIA

                   LIFE

                                    ARE TALK SHOWS

                         LOVE

+

poems are just broken bits of flesh disguised as black print on white pages if you think about it

+

here are all of the
words
i would give
you
if your eyes weren't so
deep