I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.
I'm trying so hard to contain my pain,
But the darkness still surrounds me.
Soon I'll be happy and free,
But for now you're my only escape.
And when I crave the sharp end of the blade on my skin,
I replaced it with the image of your lips there instead.

This is too good to be true,
Just break my heart already.
Everything about you,
Makes my heart feel steady.

You've become my greatest fear,
Even though I know you mean no harm.
So wrapped in you dear,
With nothing around me but your arm.

I never meant to care this much,
But somehow you caught me off guard.
I can't resist the feel of your touch;
I tried not to fall, but it was way too hard.

Each sweet little kiss drawing me deeper into you.
I can see it in your eyes,
You feel the same way I do.

So just stitch your heart with mine,
And finally, they'll align.
We'll commit the greatest crime,
Our love concurring even time.

In an airplane on a rainy Tuesday night, you were sitting next to me
I was wearing ripped up tights and stolen jewelry
You took my hand and leaned into me, I saw a lady walk by
She had dark lipstick and green smokey eyes
She was walking fast with her high heeled shoes, slipping off a ring
She threw it down and I heard her say, "I'll never miss a thing."
"Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seats,"
I run my fingers through your hair, blonde, silk, and soft
I hear the boy behind me, breathing hard, trembling knees
I said "Honey, lean back and close your eyes, listen to the machine sing."
You were falling asleep, I watched the city streets diminish as we flew into the darkening sky and mesmerizing lights
The city was my kingdom and the clouds were my throne
I can be your queen, we'll rule heaven till it falls
Soaring grey machines and ocean's eyes, to the gods' great home
Open up the gates and you can save us all
Listen to the machines sing
The sky will set you free

My beloved, tonight it is more than perfect, the zephyr winds sing so
sweetly your name and the crystal stars shine like your earrings.
As the White Mountains glint gracefully, and the wind speaks
over our fingers, upon our balcony, let’s dance, my beloved.

Now over the thousand streams and star crystals in the air,
You can see our prayers fill up the milky rivers in the sky.
Below the lights of Christmas, before the blue rivers of stars,
let’s dance like the shadows and the circles of the moonlight.

Now dreams rise over like the wind and shine so easily
But time falls quickly, and worries fall away so slowly.
So let the rage of your fears dance around and under your legs.
For the world is falling asleep, calling for the colors of their dreams.

So let the tresses of your hair fall freely,
And the wind of your perfume
Soak up the flames of your heart.
Spinning like the starlight, tasting every feeling,
Let the steel blue sky and its stars fall all around you.

Dance wildly, my beloved, let's dance like the songbird who sings,
let’s dance forever, until we wash into the skyline of our dreams.

Moths—they are nearly all comprised of the same tender characteristics: empty colors that've somehow been ****** away like the nectar they digest, fuzzy abdomens that crumble within the softest pinch, and powder encrusted wingspans that fray with countless beatings from the wind. I have come to recognize that there are people like Her who dwindle within themselves among all of us, unheard; enthralled by color that doesn't exist to the naked eye, but rather to an imaginative mind and a battered soul. She is The Moth Girl and she, too is the epitome of simpler things. With Her fair skin and enchanting, grey eyes that **** you in with a single glance; lips so chapped and brittle that they're nearly as drained of pigment as the rest of her. I've decided that She is the reason oblivion hasn't doomed us all and obliterated our world to dust. I've imagined Her as oblivion itself, annihilating other galaxies and collecting the discolored soot from each explosion to sift it over the wings of every moth that has ever been criticized. With this, I have concluded that every moth must be a victim.
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But, if given the chance, would they transfigure?
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I've undergone the thrill of witnessing these moths revolutionize into harlequin humming birds that thrive at Her will. Wings that were once littered with dust are now far too rapid and swift for manifestation. The Moth Girl — She remains a flower of a woman, though now She is sprouting with petals that burst with color; filled with nectar sweeter than She. They are all rich with vibrancy.
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With it, they have concluded that it's not much different being evocative.
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After everything, I have decided that they were blooming with color all along, and it was the rest of us that simply couldn't see it.

This year,
love has so many more meanings than the last.
Love takes up more of the space in which emptiness lived until now.
This year, love can be definable,
or not.
I've learned that some types of love do not sound like
"I love you"
but can only be felt.
In the kind touches of a companion,
of a new little sister,
or of your cats.

Love that can only be seen,
in the pictures of you and your best friend at a party,
in the face of someone who will stay on the line until you say goodbye first,
in your co-star on stage when you realize you've got it down.

Love that can be defined, but only in the obscurist of ways
because who are we kidding;  we're teenagers.
"You are so good"
"I can't wait to see where life takes you"
become immense words of love.

Love only whispered,
in paying for your friend's coffee,
in adding a special touch on a card,
in promising to run away with your best friend when she shows up crying about her mother.

Love,
a light touch of mysticism, the kind that makes you stay out late talking in a Walmart parking lot,
the kind that fills you when you make plans to run away to the city after graduation,
the kind that takes you 40 minutes to get lost in before realizing it.

This year was spent loving,
maybe not even myself most of the time, but loving nonetheless.
A swift movement, a soft turn,
and here we are.
A new year of undefinable, definable, mystical, whispered, and purposeful love.
I can't wait to see where life takes us next.

This year I want to start a new tradition. One that's my own. At the end of each year I'd like to write what I've learned. No, this isn't another "New Year, New Me," poem, simply a fresh perspective.

Oh 2016, where do I even begin? This past year brought immense pain, yet so much clarity after the heartache subsided. I learned that you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Unfortunately, I lost that loved one before I could learn that lesson. Now that it's been taught, by the grace of God I am no longer lost.

2016 was the year I did it all on my own. Okay, who am I kidding I'm a millennial so my dad did help me along the road. 2016 was about choosing your battles while fighting the good fight. I also learned it's not always about you. In fact, it's safe to say it's never about you. We're merely just pieces in a big spiritual puzzle, and that truth will never be muzzled.

**Happy New Year & Cheers to 2017!