There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that pique their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book.

I wonder who you were before you took those parts of yourself you were ridiculed for and buried them alive, giving the chambers of the heart a new meaning. I wish I could unearth those pieces of you. If I could, I’d pull them out from underneath all of the insults you couldn’t forget and the self-deprecating things you told yourself as a result. I’d make sure to brush off every cobweb and blow away the dust just so I could see your real smile. I’d watch it break across your face like the sweet morning sunrise as you told me about the things that made you shudder and the things that made you warmer than any summer we’ve ever known. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. If only you knew just how precious those parts of you are. If only you could believe it.

I want to be a work of art, at least in my soul, since I can’t be one in my body.

when he asked me
why are you able to be strong
i looked at him and said
my heart is a muscle
heavy words
have made
stronger