i am my fathers child

i never learned how to
accept the love i was given

these hands
so much like his

refuse to remain open
curling into fists at the
suggestion i am enough

i’ve never allowed myself
to need anyone

i am my fathers child

someday i too, will
be nothing more than
a faded memory

nothing more than a
name on the tip of your
tongue or
a brief second glance
in a shop-store window

and although i knew
this was ill-fated
at conception

still, i needed to love you,
needed to know i tried my
best to make you feel

anything

before you break me
say my name
catch the torment in your throat,
just for a moment.
look into my eyes
commit the feeling to memory.
say my name
place humanity into the punching bag
before you take the final swing.
please
say my name
before you break me

and when i tell you
about how my day was
in its entirety and go off
on an entire tangent on
the one guy with the orange
(because it was the funniest thing)
and describe all the stupid details

what i’m trying to say is
i miss you a little too much
and i wish you were here
with me today to see the
one guy with the oranges
(because it’s not that funny
unless you were there)

what i’m trying to say is
that i’m scared of taking up
too much of anyone’s time
so i’m really scared that
you’re just annoyed with me
because any of your time is
more than i ever wanted

what i’m trying to say is
(you are special to me)

what i’m trying to say is
(i want you to know you are
special to me)

what i’m trying to say is
(i love you)

you built me a castle
beach front- no less
with seashells for doors
and driftwood for a flag
but it was too close to shore
the waves beat it down until
it swept away
and we laughed

this time though,
I drowned

there was always a comfort,
fabricated as it may have been,
in the way I knew how bad it was

just by the footsteps

I tried to write a poem for you.
I tried to put it in words.
but the only thing I can think to say is

I love you. and
Thank you.

I fall back into you
so easily
if we
were never meant to be
then why are you
my home

so badly I wish to be poetic
I drink my tea in the moonlight
take evening strolls in the rain

I bring a tattered notepad with me
to the café
to the museums
I choose my words so carefully

But I'm sitting alone,
at three in the morning
writing this "poem"

and I don't feel poetic at all

and it just hurts ya know? I wanted to be that person for you
I wanted everything to be okay.
there was a time and a place for us and I know that now but it doesn't stop me from wanting you

I could never just let things go.

always digging up the graves
of past conflicts laid to rest.

always picking at the scabs,
making sure they left a scar.

I never wanted to forget

The walls I've built
are made of glass
nothing is left to the imagination
everything inside lay bare for
your viewing.
but
they are still walls
fortified and bulletproof
there is nothing you can do but watch
as I break myself over and over again

but these are petty kindnesses,
stitched together with the
fear of being seen as cold

do not pretend your words hold
any meaning other than the
selfish need to placate yourself

all you had to say was

"I'm sorry"

a gentle safety awaits
in your arms

{but then, you've never been gentle}

a comforting predictability
in your presence

{still, I've never known what to expect}

you make me feel loved

{you are all that I have left}

I love you

{I am so alone}

eventually the lightning fades
the sky turns back to gray and there was
never a thing to worry about at all

and im trying to keep everyone else
from sinking

but I've never learned how to swim

and god, i loved him
i was far too young
far too fragile
to know what that meant, but
above all else
i loved him

i very quickly become attached
to those with a bleeding heart
because i see myself in them

i want to make them better
i want to fix their brokenness
and maybe it's selfish
but
i think i hope that by fixing them
i'll learn to fix myself too

When I was younger, I never understood
the concept of "retail therapy"

I just didn't get how people
could reason that a new outfit
or gadget would fix their issues
or calm their broken heart

I thought that it was kind of ridiculous,
to be honest.

But this new sweater almost feels like
you, and I take it all back now.

you noticed.

if nothing else,
if we will never be more
than the faint wonderings
of what could have been.

even if this is as far as the story goes,
at least once, just once,

I was seen

There are some things
not to be said, like
"i'm tired of having to explain myself to you"
and
"i'm happier now that you're gone"

the soft evening light
illuminated your face
and the longer i looked
the more certain i became
that
there has never been
and could never be
anyone
as utterly mesmerizing
as you

And its ******, ya know?
the fact that the only person
who sees me,
is the only person
i know would break my heart
if given the chance

i knew you were toxic
i knew you weren't good
but you understood me
and
that scares me
what if that means
i'm like you

the sadness
is back again
i don't know why
it just seems like every time
i get better
or
i move forward
the world tilts
and all of a sudden
i am no longer running away
i am running into the darkness
always running
and i'm tired
so tired

i was weightless
adrift in the shark-infested
ocean of my thoughts

the bell rang,
everyone around me began
collecting their belongings
and moving on

i was frozen. stuck in
whirlpools. struggling to keep
my head above water.

the tables emptied, new faces
poured into the halls
something was blocking the
light

when i finally found my way
back to shore
i looked up and it was you,
heroic, with your lifeline
outlined by the sun

you stood by the doorway smiling.
books in hand, waiting for me

"you coming?"

there is a soft emptiness in
my bones
and i still
don't quite know what's supposed to
fill it
but your smile
and laugh
and
heartbeat
seem to pour into my
hollow chest
too quickly
and take up
entirely
too much space

you've read books and poems ever since you were too small to reach the countertops without a step-stool. you were immersed in the worlds and philosophy of others far before you knew what that meant. this is a good thing. because of this, you've always known the right words to say, what to do in a situation because of what you've read in this book or that poem. you have become an author without ever putting words on the page. the characters look to you to see what they will do next. it has become your responsibility to fix their problems and smooth out their character arcs. but being an author is lonely. because while everyone is worrying over the characters in the story, no one ever asks the author if they're okay. if they need help with the weight of hundreds of universes sitting atop their shoulders, no, the author is fine. even if their hands go numb and the pencil splinters their fingertips. the author will see it through to the end.

.1. you will sing songs of sunflowers and the rainy afternoon glow of a summer evening, you will burn incense and keep flowers on every dresser in the house

.2. you’ll hum love songs and ponder the inevitable happily ever after, you’ll imagine what falling asleep to the rhythm of their breath feels like. it feels like home.

.3. you will see mundane tasks like grocery shopping become haunted by the thoughts of them, the daydream of picking out tea together keeps the smile lingering long enough for the cashier to notice

.4. you’ll see them talking with someone else, watch the history of their relationship trace back far further than yours ever could. your breath catches. you didn’t realize how wonderful it could be to be invisible until this very moment in time

.5. reality settles in for the night and you are kept awake by the realizations of your faults, your chest contracts with the thought of someone else listening to the poetry of their heartbeat, every name pulled from their lips in passing conversation becomes a death sentence

.6. you will convince yourself you’re okay. that however close they may be to anyone else that you have a connection, a spark, that can’t be replicated and how could you ever be so foolish to think that it could fall flat in the face of others

.7. with the passing days you will become increasingly irritable with anyone and everyone that reminds you that you are not the one nor the only in their life

.8. you will tell yourself to let go, you will list all the reasons they wouldn’t be good for you.

.9. somehow the list remains empty

.10. you will eventually remove them from your life. slowly, but surely. your pillows will collect your tears like precious gems. hearing their name restarts the process

.11. you will move on with time. you will put new flowers in the old vases, crush the dead petals into a jar of potpourri. you will smile with sadness and memories at the scent of it. you will be glad you knew them. you will be glad they are happy now.

.12. you will be happy again. I promise.

i guess i knew when i realized no matter how far i strayed, how hard i ran away, you always found me. bloodied and battered, hiding under some cheap excuse. you would pull me out, and gently clean me up. tell me how i knew better as you patched my wounds. brushed the hair out of my eyes as you told me all that really mattered was how i was okay. no matter how many times i repeated the process, you never lost the gentleness in your touch. the love in your words. the sigh of relief at finding me, broken and bruised. and the expert way in which you put me back together every time. it was once i realized you had held each part of me in your own hands, in its purest and most shattered form, allowed them to scrape your palms as you held them still tighter. and you still loved me all the better for it. i guess i knew once i realized you weren't going to leave. no matter how many times i made us both bleed in the process, i suppose i knew because no matter how hard i tried to convince you to leave, you stayed.

i could build a cathedral

out of all the words i

want to wrap you in and

kiss upon your lips


i could construct villages

out of all the hopes i

keep sacredly out of

reach


i could fill a mausoleum

with all the promises

i have received with open arms

only for them to leave me

just as those who gifted them


i could write cities and forests

and galaxies into existence

using only the words that

come to mind when i hear your voice

or when i feel the gentle comfort of

your breath intermixing with mine

when our universes are only a few

heartbeats away from colliding


i could build a life with you

and that’s what leaves me speechless