the worst of it was the wanting.
the profound sense that I was lacking something
or, rather, someone
that I desperately needed to complete me.
This was never true, of course.
But the truth can get muddy when
buried six feet below the wanting
of something, anything more.

and i really wish you never kissed me
or showed me your favorite movies

i wish you didnt call me when you were drunk
and chatty

what am i supposed to do with all these
parts of you

How can I put them down

She wrote poetry
though not like most
she used no ink or pen
but nonetheless she wrote
lines of crimson
red that stained
she wrote until her heart was drained
The sliver of hope
the light she held dear
was stuck inside
along with her fear
she tried to reach it
tried to find
some small trace it left behind
she carved
she searched
until red lines
defined her worth

I suppose it says something
I feel comfortable enough
safe enough
to fall asleep on the couch
because I know you're beside me
and
I suppose it says something
you pay attention enough
notice enough
to make up an excuse
and drive me home
even though you wanted to stay
even though I told you to stay

you wanted to drive me home

once upon a time
you were the moon to my stars
which is to say, you didn't know
how to shine without dimming me in the process

and yes, you sat me in your lap to feed me off your fork
but then, you always had a way of presenting scraps as
a reward

and presentation is everything, right?
no, you never truly left me bleeding
instead, my heart and mind were carefully extrapolated
blended together until they looked like the color of your eyes,
and gently poured back in place

how do you know which pieces go where?
how can I know without you?

he asked me why
every time i said “i love you”

the words sounded so much
like a resignation of fate
in my throat
why they fell to the ground
as lead bullets through my teeth

i tried to explain the ticking time
bomb my affections become

explain how the love i’ve known
detonates and runs for cover at the
mere suggestion there is an attack

i am scared of telling you i love you
because

love has never been kind to me

and i want to be kind to you