We were best friends
We broke up
things are ugly
Our friends have picked sides
not because they were forced but because they weren't really my friends to begin with
You couldn't decide
Couldn't be friends
Couldn't be lovers
Couldn't handle me in your life at all
"If you are out, I will not be"
"Sorry doesn't fix anything. Us not seeing one another anymore does."
You have spun yourself as the good guy.
And they will call you mature.
You've handled this the best way you could.
Sometimes things just don't work out.
It wasn't your fault.
These things just happen
Sometimes
I will be crazy
Or unstable
Or just need to try harder to move past it.
I will be the bad guy.
I will stand drunk here in my apartment as you stick your drunken tongue down my throat
And your drunken fingers inside me
And I will wait for the morning to come so you can blame me
blame alcohol
blame anything except your lack of self
self respect, self worth, self control
Again.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
I got butterflies hearing it
You got drunk and told me in a smokey bar
Earnestly, clumsily, but in the dearest way
You don't remember
You weren't quite ready
It wasn't how you wanted to do it
So we pretend you haven't told me yet.
I've wanted to tell you in so many smokey bars
On street corners when we're walking
In bed in the early morning
In the shower, suds covered, soaked and laughing
In my kitchen, dancing and spinning me around
On grocery trips and in speeding cars.
You haven't told me yet
But I'm bursting to tell you again
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
You're in or you're out.
Make the choice.
Decide.
I'm here, with an open heart,
willing to set aside my baggage and travel this unexplored road unburdened by my past.
I'd love for you to join me.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
"I'm home."
My whole plan for the night has changed.
"Let me throw on some real clothes and makeup"
"You don't need makeup"
"Oh the makeup isn't for you. The makeup is so I can deal with reflective surfaces."
I am there in less than a half hour.
You wrap me in a hug.
It's as if some sort of missing gear drops into place in that moment.
So many things are said in that one embrace.
Did it look that way to the casual observer? Or did it look like an average hug between friends?
There were no casual observers.
We're in a bar.
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey.
You drink yours with Coke.
Mine has honey and is on the rocks.
"Are you two talking? Seeing one another?"
In unison: "No. Just friends."
Did anyone smell the lie before I recognized it?
My leg rests against yours.
You text me to communicate thoughts over the others' heads.
"Are you okay? I know he's a bit much. We can leave?"
"I'm fine. He's fine. Do you want to leave?"
We're leaving to join friends at a house.
We route through an ally to visit your brother's first.
You're in front of me. Beside me. around me. Kissing me. My lips remember things from years ago I'd told myself to forget happened. I shove you away. Confused. In shock. Dumbstruck. Awestruck.
"Wha...wher...where did that come from?"
"Oh. I see how it is. I'm sorry. Maybe I misread."
"No. Just...wha..."
I don't remember what else I said to you. Only what I felt. What I still feel. Shock. Relief. Awe. Joy. Disbelief.
I didn't shove you away because I wanted you away. I wanted to pull you in, ******* your hair in my needy hands and communicate to you things I've never had the guts to speak; wrap every inch of me around you and show you what my life had been without you; what it could be with you. I shoved you away because this is not what we do. We do not cross that line. We do not open that box. We do not acknowledge this...whatever this is. We ignore and deny. Even still, I didn't shove aside your next kiss. Or the next.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
I live to see you look at me like I'm the most beautiful creature you've ever laid eyes on.
You brush my hair behind my ear gently and run your fingers along my cheek.
"You have the most beautiful ears.
Ears are such a strange thing to love about a person, but I do love them.
I love your ears. Little, delicate pixie ears.
My tiny manic pixie dream girl."
I live to hear that I'm yours.
I live to hear you say anything really
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
I'm drinking good coffee and eating good foods and watching fires burn low and gazing at crisp, clear, sparkly night skies.
And you aren't!
I'm reading books. I'm watching films. I'm listening to new music. I'm learning new things. I'm meeting new people and growing, growing, growing.
And you're not!
I'm creating art works and planning and writing and going new places and exploring new things. I am walking up city side walks and down country roads and hiking up old trails and seeing ruins.
And you are not.
I wish you were here with me; doing these things.
**** you. You aren't.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Have you ever been Cinderella at the ball?
Have you ever stood there so completely in awe of the impossible wonderful you're experiencing?
Have you ever had to leave the ball so no one sees your riches turn to rags
Return to the drudgery of a reality full of tyrants and sycophants;
Thinking that you'll be okay going back to being just you after the clock strikes midnight?
How do you go back?
How do you ever taste anything the same again?
How do you learn to not ache for that kind of love; that kind of beauty?
How do you go back to living as a scullery maid?
How do you go back to the cold hearth alone?
Do you tell yourself you never deserved it?
Do you tell yourself it wasn't real?
Do you tell yourself the prince never cared?
Do you just sit alone by your hearth, covered in the day's cinders and hope beyond hope that it wasn't all in your head?
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:00 AM UTC
It took me 10 years to let you in. 10 years to allow you to look at me and truly see me. 10 years for me to let you look at the piece of me I've never gotten back. That piece is yours. Hell, all of me is yours if you want it. I don't know if I can bear to be anyone else's now, knowing what I know; how things could be. And this is why it took 10 years. I've always been afraid that once I tried you I wouldn't have a taste for anything else. I let you in completely. No walls. No pretenses. No pretending I didn't. Now what?
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 3:00 AM UTC
You are not broken
You are injured
People get injured all of the time and that's okay
People only become broken if they allow themselves to stay injured
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
These places feel strange.
They smell
Wrong.
I dare not taste them.
I want my home back:
The familiar smell
Arms which feel like comfort
A face which looks at mine and sees me
Not my skin or my hair or my eyes
But me:
My soul.
I want to come home.
When can I come home?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC