Instead of waking up reaching for you in the morning, I pray there's a morning that you'll actually be there...& there's a sky full of stars that I could gaze at, but it'd be pointless without your love. I could only dream of a day where my desperation for you won't be overpowering because my thirst will be quenched...& your sweet kiss will cure this sugar rush, and your tongue made of knives will no longer cut me but those are all dreams, and when I wake up I'm left to lay in a plethora of sheets dripping with reality. My reality is the withdrawals I have from your hands exploring my body. My reality is the ocean flowing from me that will only float your boat. My reality is that I can move on and find other love, but none quite meet my reflection like you. My reality is that I reach you through these poems that you don't even deserve to read. My reality is that you are terribly flawed in so many peoples eyes, but to me, you're an angel. My reality is that we went to war and my body was torn to pieces and you came out unscarred. My reality is that through all of this, I still love you. There was a time where my soul belonged to you, and now I spend my days chasing your memory and the poisonous butterflies rampaging my stomach have reached a level of immunity. To this, I have learned that home is not merely a place, but rather a person. My home lies in you, and lies that fill our bedroom are starting to become our truths. For, I have found the key to your heart and you have changed the locks; my darling I tasted your skin to know what it was like to breathe in pure ecstasy and that's when I want to hate you. I want to hate you because the pit of my stomach will always have this uneasiness whereas you can go on undamaged. I want to hate you because my life did a 180 and you're still on a straight path and just when I feel myself close enough to hate, a wind comes rushing in to remind me that all of the stars in the universe couldn't compare to you, and every single tear fallen cannot compete with the day you whispered the words I love you and not even the months spent mourning over you can replace the heart that beats for you. My love, the rainbow always comes after the rain, and I'm afraid that you are my rainbow.

the moment you asked me to change, i knew that i couldn't.
i can't change the way i fiddle with my hair constantly or the way i bite the inside of my lip when i'm concentrating. i can't change the way i speak far too much and also too little. i can't change the way my clothes cling to the parts of my body that they shouldn't. i can't change the way i over analyse everything or the way i laugh. i can't change the way i fall for people who spin a tale with adjectives and a happily ever after. i can't change the way i'm constantly nervous and jumpy and always wondering whether you notice me. i can't change the way i read other people's words like they're going out of style. i can't change the way i have too many questions and not nearly enough answers. i can't change the way i don't sleep because i'm too busy pondering the great workings of the universe.
i can't change me any more than i can change the direction of gale force winds simply by blowing into the air. i can't change the way i loved you and i can't change the way that all of that wasn't enough.