"i love you", he said.

i love you, he said.
what a generic phrase.
i want to believe you;
prove it to me.

you don't know what it's like
to be hurt:
to have your heart cluttered
with lies,
only to be chained back together
to please the same
mistake.

what is love?
you didn't love him.
who are you fooling, girl?

my mind is constantly chattering.
i have no perception of
peace or pleasure.
go ahead,
destroy me.
i've already got you all
figured
out.

how can you prove love?
i am sure i feel it.
what is it like for him?
does he feel the same strain
every time we part?

i want nothing more than to spend
the rest of my life in
your arms.

i want to be able to write happy things.
this is happy.
i am happy.

hold me to your trembling heart.
never let me go;
this is it:
prove you love me.

i never want to hear your voice say,
"michelle, i don't know about us..."

i hope this is it.
i hope you're it.

"i love you" is lies;
i love you.

just a wayward thought.

"and don't look back. memories are merely a trap for the weak."

seriously. my notebook is chaos.

a necessary lack of oxygen

i breathe in your body whenever we kiss.
these are the moments when time collides and
our definitions merge to form one:
us.
your arms become mine and suddenly i'm
melting,
melting until you mold my likeness with your touch.
who am i?
i am god's child, i am my mother's daughter,
i am your lungs when you feel as if you heart
won't
beat
anymore.
i can never tell you this truth because
you don't understand the beauty of language.
what are you writing for?
i am writing for your eyes, for your tongue,
for your toes and for your never ceasing lungs.
i am writing for me.
when the clock screams for sleep,
you peel your identity from mine.
we are two.
every night, my lungs start hurting,
but i know you're still breathing.