If you look closely you can see all the love pouring out of my chest. Like sand falling through the space in an hourglass; the space between "time to fix this" and "the moment you walked out." You're one of those people I probably should hold resentment against but also never really will. You're the voice on the radio game show saying "better luck next time" but not really meaning it. You're the type of person who is always changing their phone number, never in one place for too long, never in contact with one person for too many days at a time.
That sinking feeling again.
The one you feel when your Friday night is cut short but you're on your 4th shot with nowhere else to go. The guy saying "party's over, time to go home." Loving you was stumbling back to the car, drunk and without a hand to hold. Loving you was drunk driving during the first snowfall of the season. Loving you was priceless and dangerous and I swear the next time I hear love knocking I'll shut the blinds and lock the door. My heart breaks too many times in a day and I've had my fair share of sweet nothings. It wasn't anything more than a three year quest that we barely survived.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
Beginning
The diaper rash
Scratching the eczema until it bled
Ruby Red Sea trickling from my nostrils
Mom and I on a mission for the bottom of the stairs
Baby's first autographed cast!
Upside down on the couch,
Laughing
Preteen
Awareness of death
Love letter with a thirst for embarrassment
Ruby Red Sea trickling from my forearm,
My thighs
Playing ***** in the park; wanting to forfeit
Makeshift waterslide,
Bruised
Teen
First attempt to meet God
Ambulance
Throwing beer cans at cars from the hilltop
Lucy, Mary, and Molly
Discovering self confidence
First love,
Six losses
What does it take to be a friend?
Young Adult
The difference between effort and ability
Self acceptance
Getting familiar with 4am
Summertime snow
Money hungry,
No, starving
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 6:14 PM UTC
When I say don't call me again, it means call. When I say don't call me again, it means my head hurts from staring for so long at my phone waiting for it to ring. That my back pocket has the vibrations memorized so well that my heart keeps making me believe it's ringing. When my friend feels in competition with an iPhone I have to reassure her that I'm not ignoring her on purpose, it's just that your voice gives me oxygen and your laughter gives me the motivation to breathe. And I know leaving your location on for me to obsessively check was no accident, you just wanted me to know you got home safe. You just wanted to say "hey, I'm alive, and I'm so sorry for what happened an hour ago, but I'm alive." Because you don't know that when I say don't call me again, it really means that even though you're not really sorry, I forgive you. And even though you left, your side of the bed is open for you in case you turned the car around. And even though we're both angry, I'd kiss your forehead, like if when I do you will remember the first night you told me I was special. The night you told me that nothing about the way we breathe with each other is casual. And even though you're going to sleep a state away, I know I'd be able to feel your heartbeat through the phone line. As if distance ever stood a chance. So when I say don't call me again, it means a lot of things. It means I'm angry and I'm hurt but I want to see if I'm your sun. I want to see if your world wouldn't be as warm without my smile. I want to see if I'm your cherry on top, if I'm the sugar in your tea, your cigarette break after a long work day, the bonus in your paycheck. I wanted to see if I was worth wasting gas for, the minutes on your clock for, if I was worth the stubbed toes. And yeah, I know, why stub your toes when you could just wear socks and sneakers but let me tell you if you asked me for water I'd bring you the whole **** sea. So when I say don't call me again, what it really means is I hope you answer when it rings.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
I came to terms with my loneliness yesterday while filling out an application when question #7 asked me to describe myself.
I was reminded of my worth when I was told "just a person trying to make do was not a long enough response.
Not long enough -
Not long -
Not enough.
I reread my rejection a few more times, wondering what more I could add without lying.
Ever since you went overseas I've been trying to pick back up the parts of myself you left behind out of anything I can find.
So far I have not found any self worth in the bottom of the bottle.
I threw out your chapstick I found in my center console and ripped up the photo I had of your tucked under my insurance card.
If I crash the car tonight at least I wont have the option of looking at your photo as the last face I see.
Bring me home a souvenir from all the countries you've smiled in and a jar filled with the sound of your laughter.
Ill put it under my pillow.
If I keep the lid open maybe Ill finally sleep through the night.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
If you don't love me explain why your heart beats the same rhythm of my favorite song
If you don't love me explain why it takes so much of your effort to ***** the door hinges of your heart back on when I come around
If you don't love me explain the heat of your gaze I feel on me every time I look away
If you don't love me explain my phone lighting up in the middle of the night to inform me that you're six shots deep in your own regret
If you don't love me explain the raindrops dripping from your eyes when you speak about missing me and the ocean forming in my palms
If you don't love me explain the emptiness I know you feel inside when you see me smile and know it's not of your doing.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:40 AM UTC
If there is nothing to write about I'll write about the scars across your face.
The way someone wrapped you like a birthday present and tied the ribbon so tight it left creases.
I'll wonder about the look on her face when she opened you up on her special day and decided you were not the gift she wanted.
The brass knuckle bruises that decided they wanted to stay forever under your eye, poisoning your reflexes whenever someone touched you there.
The washing machine and the corner table too.
The way she left you,
Or didn't.
If there is nothing to talk about I'll talk about the snow covered Subaru
The stigma of doughnuts- and the coffee much too hot.
I'll learn the patterns of your hands, the way they move when the windows let off steam, and the pace the wheel turns.
Nothing about the way we breathe is casual.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 1:33 PM UTC
"Why don't you call?"
The only thing I fear is the dial tone of rejection so I never pick up the phone
And fifty feet below the Benjamin franklin bridge when the rocks give way and I survive
I know I must matter to somebody I just wish wanted it to be you
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
Suddenly everyone's telling me "drive safe" in place of "goodbye"
I wonder why all of these people are suddenly concerned
I want to know how they all think they know me
Why my deathbed is easy to picture for them
Since you left I've discovered that all men who seem to think they like me are only in it selfishly
Just another man looking for more than I have to give
I think I should be sorry but I'm not
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
I am a newspaper someone accidentally spilled their morning coffee on.
I am the empty beer can you found on the trail in the woods.
I am the brightest stars that die at the end of each night.
I am the drunken sob story from the uninvited girl in the bathroom.
I am the face you see in your dreams that you don't think you recognize.
I am the keys you accidentally locked in your car.
I am leather car seats on a 100 degree afternoon.
I am the overgrown pit stop on the side of a highway with a luxurious view.
Except you parked the car but never got out.
You just sat and cried.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
I never imagined we'd spill the same cup but the floor feels a lot stickier than when I last walked here.
Your eyes are daggers that slice the tension in the air like a coffee cake.
I struggle to mold the events back into place in my mind and out of my mouth.
No more maybe so's.
No more wondering if part of you died inside too, or if that deceiving smile means more than what meets the eye.
I know you're the devil but you smell like the Lord.
And when you cry I feel defeated.
Once again.
The corkscrew tunnel my mouth creates as I try to find the words I rehearsed into the mirror every day before today.
I can remember clearly the indent of your veins through your skin and the car crash force you used to keep me in place.
Saying sorry is the same as saying you regret it and neither one will take away the weight my bones feel.
One time you asked me where I'd go if I could fly anywhere in the world.
The stars do not reach a place far enough away from this mess you've created.
This inescapable void is one of many you planted in the garden of of my memory.
The thought of your lips makes me nauseous.
And no, I don't hate you, I just can't look at you without seeing the joker card no one plays with.
Your eyes are the color ink used to write the letter F across my graded test.
Telling you how I feel for the first time in four years doesn't make the pain go away,
I'll still wait by my door for your car to pull away before leaving my house,
It doesn't make me comfortable feeling your arms grasped tight around me during a hug,
It just makes it a little easier to choke out a "hello" when I happen to run into you.
And I know,
I know I am not the only one.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 11:35 PM UTC