“White roses in the snow never let me go. Lyin’ in your bed and movin’ slow, takin’ off our clothes, givin’ you it all, all I need is you and me alone. Love is like a rose; baby, let it grow, no one knows the secrets that you know. Come on, pull me close, lay me in the snow, I know you can feel it.”
I can see it now us running from our demons my God how they have grown into the people we love, into the things we know.
We’re at the back door of your house and you pull me close.
We are not in love
this is not a love poem
This is about you trying to find something in me worth living for.
This is a poem about us trying to cling to the earth even though it seems bound on exiling us.
This is about that time someone touched me and took a little piece of me. This about how i’m still trying to fill that part of me.
This one is about how he’s been living in the bottom of a bottle since he was sixteen and he only comes up for air once a year, my birthday. This one’s for him wherever he is so he knows i’m still dying but I am surviving and I guess we all have to start from somewhere.
This ones for the boy whose heart I broke last year because I was bored. I’m still sorry and I hope you found
This is for the nights where I trace my scars and imagine what I would look like with more, if my body could handle anymore. This one is in hope that I go many more years without adding another scar and maybe one day I can learn how to stop missing the feel of that blade.
This ones for you and my hope that you find a guy worth your time. I hope you learn to love yourself inside and out. I hope every photo you take of yourself makes you smile and that one day you won’t need to fill yourself with drugs and alcohol to feel alright.
This one’s for my little sister who I swear is perfect and I hope she never feels like the poems I write.
This one’s for Sarah Bleasdale for being my lighthouse without even knowing it.
This one’s a thank you for anyone whose ever loved me.
Dot: Dude, have you ever seen someone with a shirt as lame as his? Mitchell: Not to rain on your parade missy, but your tee is much lamer then mine. Dot: One. Does. Not. Mess. With. My. Frog. Shirt. You’ll regret this.