I need to remember that
I’m just not one of those people
who simply
“won’t catch feelings.”
I am a loving person.
I give love.
That’s what I do.
I love others,
While making the mistake of thinking
They will love me back.
Why won’t you love me back

She said,
I’ll give you a hint
If you swear you won’t tell.
She said,
I’ll give you a hint
If you promise I won’t go to hell.
She said,
Does anybody hear me
Or am I just talking to myself.
She said,
Why did you leave me
Why am I here by myself.
She said,
never did I trust you
Not like I did
all those years ago.
She said,
Who are you now
Cuz I don’t know.

No I am not sorry.
I will not give you an apology
Because I do not lie.
I will not tell you
I feel bad about what I did.
I do not.
You obviously don’t.
You are clearly not sorry.
Sorry means you won’t do it again,
But you did.
And you said sorry.
And again
But you said sorry.
And again
But you said sorry.
You’ve said sorry so many times
That I’ve lost the meaning of the word
When it leaves you’re mouth.
You are not sorry you did it.
You are sorry that I made you
feel bad about it.
You are sorry that I made you realize
You’re carelessness hurts.
You’re ignorance h u r t s.
But the difference between us
Is that you said you were sorry
When you didn’t mean it.
I would rather no apology
Than a blatant lie.
I will not say sorry,
Simply because
I most definitely
Am not.

I don’t regret it,
It just would’ve been more convenient
If I didn’t do it.

When the psychoanalyst
Pulls out the piece of paper
And asks:
What does this look like to you?
I’d like to answer by saying
A bunch of black blotches on a page.
But that’s not what I said.
That’s not what you’re supposed to say.
You’re supposed to look at it really hard
And make an image out of nothing.
I can’t remember what I said.
But I do remember,
The woman making me repeat it,
asking for a back story.
I didn’t give it enough thought for a
“back story”.
No, I do not know why
the man is sitting at a park bench alone
eating a sandwich.
Maybe his wife left him
and he can’t make his own food
Because he’s the type of guy
Who’s been married so long
He doesn’t know how to not be married
So he bought a sandwich
I’ve never been married so,
I don’t know.
Maybe he just likes sandwiches.
It’s not my fault the black blotches
On the piece of paper
Look like a man eating a sandwich.
Now that I think about it
I was probably just hungry.
Why are you asking me
What these black blotches on paper
Look like?
Why don’t you tell me?
How the **** should I know.

Accidentally in love.
Purposely broken.
Undeniably unknown.
Questionably sane.
Increasingly resilient.
Undone in every way.

Half of my body says I don’t deserve
Half of the things I live to endure.
Half of my body says please set me free.
Half of my body says just let me be.
Half of my body loves him so.
Half of my body knows he’ll never show.
Half of my body says love over lust.
Half of my body says time over trust.
Half of my body knows too much.
Half of my body lies as such.
Half of my body says no one should save you.
Half of my body never forgave you.