"The Secret Life of the American Teenager, Season 4: Ep. 3"

Picking up the pieces of my broken faith
My heartbeat faintly whispers to my fingers, my feet,
“Someone, somewhere needs a Friend like you did”.

Entirely dismissive, annoyed and too often,
Begrudgingly employed,
I acknowledge the obvious end,
the greater Good collecting dust,
The Highest of High,
who I call,
Healer.

Tonight,
alone but
drowning in
polluted,
shallow,
powdered sugar

I squealed when the girl asked the boy,
“stay with me, heal me...”
and convinced him
with. a. kiss.

I know better
I live better...
right?

Nope.

And as I shut my screen,
Their embraced lips tattooed along my eyelids,
I don’t even notice how far away
Our true Healer is
from my
easily-entertained,
attention-hungry
heart.

These meager rations
leave my soul’s bones barren,
begging
to say those words

in a state of vulnerability
to Creator Friend,
forever
my Guy.

This truly
lack-lusting,
Intimacy-here-than-waning,

Melodrama inducing
Blood-racing, breaths-increasing
drama
is suddenly too sweet.

Picking up the pieces of my broken faith
My heartbeat faintly whispers to my fingers, my feet,
“Someone, somewhere needs a Friend like you did”.

Everyday.

Beautiful.
Like there's a name for the catching of breath in throat, veins pumping looser, silver, warmer, gold.
They say, "you're beautiful!"
And you wonder, if there's a way to freeze this moment forever,
Then melt it later, spread it on days dry and barren of anything to boast.

Beautiful.
Like you needed someone to say it, louder than your own thoughts.
Yeah, you did.
Because when they say, "sup, pretty girl?"
You turn, because you don't feel you belong.

Believe it, beautiful.
It's your turn to love yourself.
Adore the small, charming eyes
See the color of chocolate, not dirt.
See the way it frames your face, the too small-just right smile.

Beautiful.
When they say it next, know it anyway.
It's not just today, it's everyday.