Sunsets

If my life was a movie, one of the best scenes would be those moments we shared during that sunset on a cold fall evening.

I hated sunsets, but you showed me how to appreciate the purple hues, the same purple hues that now exist beneath my eyes from missing you so much.

I hate sunsets.

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Sun

You are my sun, my stars, and everything to me,
And wherever you go, is where I want to be.

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Broken Dishes

My heart hurts for the girl I used to be:
The one that was always there for everyone,
The one that would serve her heart on a porcelain platter,
Hoping that others like him wouldn't shatter it.

My heart hurts for the girl I used to be:
The one that would anticipate other's needs before her own,
The one that would render aid and heal wounds despite still bleeding from her own.

Through others, I had learned that my empathy was a weakness, that I was too much,
Yet they took from me everything their greedy hands could touch.
They would take the best and bring out the worst;
They taught me that my needs didn't matter and that theirs always came first.

My heart hurts for the girl I used to be:
So young and so naïve,
Too full of love and too blind to see.

My heart hurts for the girl I used to be,
But I am not her any longer;
I am finally free.

- Scarphoe

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Magic

I think that was her magic; she did whatever the fuck she wanted and didn't give a fuck who noticed.

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Curiosity

I always woke up with at least a hundred existential
questions before breakfast;
it's just who I was.
I wanted to know why the grass was so green,
And why the sky was high.
I wanted to know why the sea was so deep,
And why people lie.
I wanted to know if God was real,
And what the purpose in life was.
Knowledge was my addiction; there was just too much to learn.
Maybe I'd never find all of the answers to my questions,
but it didn't matter.
Curiosity was my master.

- Scarphoe

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Il Sole

Ha smesso di piovere, ma il sole non torna.

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Moonshine

She was made of flowers and fire,
Rock and roll, and church hymns sang by the choir.
She was made of war and desire, magic and vice;
She was as sunny and nice as a tequila sunrise.
She loved foreign languages, leather and lace,
Country music, boots, tattoos, and the moon up in space.
She was regal and hood,
Captivating, but always a little misunderstood.
She was nurturing and empathetic;
Poesy and love was her aesthetic.
She cared for wounded animals and baby birds in the sky,
Always standing up for those in need and for what's right.
Her eyes were a hypnotizing Jack Daniel's brown;
She was a queen that preferred a sword over a crown.
She was as strong as ice, as pretty as a rose,
But when wronged, she delivered the deadliest blows.
She was addicting like nicotine;
You craved her like a smoke;
Her voice was like music to your ears whenever she spoke.
The girl was a little bit of heaven and a little bit of hell;
She captivated you like if you were under a spell.
She was a childlike spirit, a wanderer, a gem,
Always up for some adventure and mayhem.
She was as deep as the ocean, as dreamy as the sky;
She'd get you drunk on her just like moonshine.

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Gold Stars

It was nearly four in the morning as I watched the ceiling fan blades go around and around.
As I looked at the cycling shadows, I pondered about what had become of my life lately.
It was such a disappointment.
It was such a disillusionment.
I found myself feeling numb, growing more and more cynical with each passing day.
The girl that radiated positivity and love was dead.
She wasn't coming back, and I didn't blame her.
All the world ever did was hurt her.
I kept going through therapy despite knowing most of the things my therapist would tell me.
"You're so self-aware".
"You're so intelligent".
I knew that, and while I appreciated her efforts, I couldn't help but feel like a dog doing a trick for a treat. I was her exemplary patient, her star client, but gold stars don't make you feel better.
Most people won't tell you this, but sometimes the stitches hurt more than the wound.
Many days I wondered if I would ever get better.
Would I ever get better?
Would it ever get better?
Until then, I'd stare at the ceiling fan, writing about my demons, making half-hearted efforts towards recovery, trying to make sense of my past, myself, and the unforgiving world around me.

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Magic


She was a different kind of magic.
Her beauty did not come from her perfectly winged liner,
or her alluring breasts that spilled out of her dress.
Her beauty came from her heart,
from all that she was, from all that she is.
She was the light in the darkness, the angel from hell,
the moon that guided others when everything else failed.
She was the sea in a person, the remedy for the broken,
the medicine for their pain.
She was a healer; magic flowed through her being.
She was unstoppable; nothing could break her.
She fell down, only to rise again,
and to save others from their own pain.
She was the friend in the void, the spell, the answer.
Her eyes would put you in a trance,
and the universe complied to her demands when she danced.
She was a different kind of magic.

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May 21

I met him on a cool summer night,
sea breeze messing through my hair as his arms hugged me tight.
Everything felt right.
He kissed my neck as his grip got tighter, and all I could think about was being his.
I was his.
He laid his head on my chest, and I gently played with his hair until he fell asleep.
His mischievous grin was replaced with a peaceful smile as he rested.
Oh how I loved his smile.
He was like the sun I hadn't seen in a while.
He warmed my cold heart that hadn't been loved for so long.
In that moment, I knew.
I wanted to take care of this man for the rest of my life.
I wanted to give him the life he deserved, the life he had never thought was possible.
In his eyes I saw many demons.
I would take care of him and protect him from all the pain he'd known before.
He was mine.

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