Days pass where my heart lingers inside of my body like a coffin
Buried underground, beneath my thoughts
Roots dig into its valves, while my breath keeps
Beating away at the countless amounts of dirt and wood
I scratch, I peel, I starve
As the wood dampens, and my heart slowly erases
The many memories of you, the many
Forbidden footsteps you left on my
Oh, so lonely heart.
It beats only faintly, as if it’s lost forever

Unused beauty, unused flesh
My heart is starving- once again-
For the tip of your tongue and the ice
Upon your neck

The Girl in the Photograph
Withers while she Decays
Six feet under

A black velvet dress, matched with
tipsy high heels
and a plastered pale face

The glass went through her
As the photograph tumbled under the scraps of
Selfish thoughts, children swaying to paint, and the bitter taste of
summer

Her childhood lies in the batch of photographs
left in grandma's mossy car, where no one choses to go

We let her stay dead, never opening the box
For if we do,
we'll illuminate her eyes,
touch her senses,
and color her mistakes.

She is beauty
Passion
Surrender
and Hope.

Her body lies in a casket of ivory
buried beneath secrets

Her cascading limbs
Torn by desire

Her heart
Ripped to shreds
From the teeth of a
Treasured soul mate

Red roses wrap around her wheat colored hair
While the warning bell rings
And her fingers twitch

The shape of his chin lingers in my memory. The taste of his lips seep into every drink caught in my throat. Clouds remind me of the shapes of his body. The curves like diamonds, the softness like his tongue.
His fingers tangle in mine constantly. My heart leaps from nervous, to frustration, to shattered in under a five minute radius. I look at him, search in his eyes, and wonder who he will marry, who will be the girl caught in his palms. I know it’s not me. But right now, while I’m kissing him softly, I pretend to be. I imagine a white dress. Wine flowing in guests’ mouths. A bouquet wrapped around my hands. His grin as I enter the paths of our lives, swirling with friends and family. An enormous church where God looks down upon us in happiness. My hair dripping down the sides of my face. A single kiss that unites us for eternity…
And then I wake up. His acne leaving grease on my lips. His smile only half of what it will be once he is grown. My eyes strangle his. Love is tossed in our mouths, sloshing back and forth between cavities and left over fast food.

Tears soaked through my Cover Girl fresh complexion make up as I walked the dingy concrete path to the newspaper room. For the past three and a half years of my high school career, the hunger I have for journalism has starved the inside of my stomach. Many nights would swim by me, letting my computer screen be the only glow of light reaching my face. The only form of interest, only conversation starters, would be ones involving who is getting interviewed next, who will meet their deadline, and who will sadly lose all of their credibility.
I want to get into a great college...

The shadows cascade her eyes as if she is living in a picture of black and white
Her eyes illuminate the essence of the sun
Brightly burning behind her
Wrapped in clouds of curls and a dirty nicotine smile

A manly confidence invades
her womanly posture
Her toes, implanted into the sand
Speak of secrets and unwanted men

Grandmother, how many days can go by
Where my heart lies
Beneath the ground in which you lie

Grandmother, how many years can go by
Where my mind searches to find
the beauty left behind

He'll make me laugh, cry, and think. He'll sculpt every inch of my body with his fingertips. He'll save fortune cookie fortunes. He'll wear converse. He'll twist his shirt sleeves up. He'll read for fun. He'll be able to recite his favorite quotes. His laughter will erupt. His eyes will search and understand. His hands will comfort. He will know me...

I traveled to a camp made for crazy Armenians drenched in their faith 5 hours away from my home. It was magnificent; every taste was beautiful, every afternoon shower felt like a heavenly water fall, the priests and deacons sang so wonderful, and nature seemed almost unrealistic. The stars in the sky looked like a jar of glitter had exploded. I searched for shooting stars every night.
I realized my faith in God that week; among the chirping of the birds and the many hymns that followed. Sleep was not a priority (one I would be deprived of by the 7th day leaving me grumpy and ready to leave). But as I fought through all the sickness, the sleep deprivation, and the hunger was a butterfly locked in a cage for the past 2 years. Her faith: destroyed. Her ethnicity: erased. Until she was released from dirty hands, spreading her wings, flapping them in ecstasy.
I found inspiration within those trees, love within those fields, wonder within those clouds. Nature seemed to bloom around my tiny feet.
Voluminous women with curves to die for, men with enough hair to wrap a petite animal. Armenians have such distinct features that I love. My eyes would wrap around their bodies, letting my wonder soak in and understand these people, these people who I am. I wanted to touch every single one of them as if they were my mother, father, brother, sister. I never missed my family while I was there because for a moment, for a week, these people were the only family I had; the family to save me, sculpt me, comfort me.
I cherished every moment of camp as if time was slowly slipping away and I had to savor it in my mouth, in my lungs, and in my heart. The water was beautiful, every time it would gallop into my water bottle or trickle down my neck. I felt thankful for everything given to me, ate every single inch of things on my plate until only centimeters of scraps were scarcely left.
The friends I made at camp will hopefully stay with me until the very end... The girls we raised for a week must always remember us, only for a moment if they will.