at fifteen years old, whether you care to admit it or not, you are young and naïve, and you know nothing about love.
but, dear god, your heart flutters and your head spins the first time a boy says that he loves you.
he says that he loves you, and you love him in return. you love him, you love him, god you love him.
the sun and the moon seem to rise and set with him.
but then.. it stops.
at fifteen, you don't expect it to hurt so badly.
but he leaves you, and god does it fucking hurt. so you stop washing your hair. and you stop sleeping. and your skin ends up becoming bruised with the creases of your bed sheets because you can never find the strength to get out of bed after he's gone.
it seems like you stop breathing when he leaves. like you stop living. and you swear to yourself that you will never love anyone again.
at sixteen years old, you know nothing about love other than the fact that it hurts.
you'll start eating pills like candy and pulling apart disposable razors in an attempt to feel better.
you'll leave him drunk messages and pray to god that he comes back to save you.
but he doesn't.
he doesn't, and it leaves you with tear stained cheeks and a crack that seems to run down all the way to your soul.
at fifteen years old, you don't know that a boy with big bright eyes and a goofy grin can ruin you.
until he does.
YOU ARE READING
permanently unfinished.
Poetrywe write our feelings on paper because we have no one to turn to when our vision is blurred by tears and our chests are crushed with sadness.
