Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Sunday, July 12, 2015. This chapter in my life is over. Two horrible, beautiful years. To be honest, it ended a year ago. I was still in love with the words. I was still in love with him. Well i guess i still am. Because they are no longer mine.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015. A post for Pretty Girls. Drowning from the tears of the one who despises me the most. Drowning because I did it, I finally did it. I cried and cried and cried and expected her to do the same. She told me I was pretty.

I tried to be like Grace Kelly but all her looks were too sad. Tuesday, March 11, 2014. Death has always been a metaphor for broken hearts and dirty dishes. But the truth is I am terrified of dying, maybe because a week ago death was all too real for me. But it all started the night of February 27.

Monday, March 16, 2015. How can you say you still love me or even loved me at all. You never really seemed to care. Your words mean nothing and your actions are shit. Despite how long and hard I tried to keep you in it, cant you see that you cant be in my life anymore? I had so much love to give and wasted it on you. I close my eyes as I hold my pillow tight, I finally fall asleep and get a break from the all the thoughts of you. Thursday, January 1, 2015. Why cant you try harder? .

My head spilled into this computer. Monday, May 12, 2014. And forever remains the change from here to then. Thursday, January 9, 2014. I figured for my slam poem I would take a different direction. I wanted to write something that felt different than all my other crap. And my lips are wet.

Thursday, January 9, 2014. I cant think of anything right now! My mined is blank hopefully I will have something by tomorrow. The first time I meat you I was so. Afraid to, get close to you. A part of myself to you. Different, and I was. We spent together, it was something. In me, and you. I fell in love with you, and all of your. Me for who I was. You did, you made feel.

Thursday, January 9, 2014. Its a poem for me. Its for the me who likes to be alone. For the me who secretly wishes she could beat box. Its for the DREAMER in me. Its for the me who writes in cursive. And for the part of me that has already fallen for Raoul.