I mess up ALOT,
So let me tell you now:
Hold me
Hold me tight
No matter how much I
Push
Shove
Claw
Or tease
Don't let me go
I WILL regret pushing you away
So hold me tighter
And don't let go

Nothing hurts more
Than the ping in your stomach
The drop of your heart
The screaming in your mind
When you're talking with your everything
And he sets you down to answer the phone call
from his side boo

Hello?
Can you hear me?
I've been locked inside my head so long I can just barely whisper
That you've hurt me, broken me
That my wounds have been reopened by just the sound of your name
Whispered on the wisps of wind on my lips because they miss forming those letters

Hello?
Are you listening?
Are you checking your phone hoping you have a missed call from me
A voice-mail you can listen to over and over because you know I'll always leave one so you can hear the hole in my lungs where your name used to rest

Hello?
Do you even care?
Have you even thought of me or even asked how I was doing
We ended so abruptly that the scars on my wrists have been torn open and someone in your family rubbed salt into them so deep they just continues to ache
Ache for you to clean them and nurse them like you used to

Hello?
Can you see me?
Can you see me on the road going on without you
Can you see me getting stronger and learning to be my own person again
Because you stole the very thing that made me who I was
My soul

Hello?
Is this you?
Is this the monster you have turned into or the shell of who you used to be
Its okay none of it matters anyway, I just need you to know
You still mean nothing to me

I feel as if my poetry isn't mine anymore.
Every other stanza I spit out reminds me of the one that broke me, or glorifies the one who found me but,
Im still at a loss of how to find myself between the small spaces in my pages.
I can never keep my head ******* on straight enough to stop worrrying about one or the other
I can't just keep focused on my goal, there has to be something else, something bigger, waiting to be messed with when I get home.
Some kind of sectioned off drama or project to occupy my terrified mind and strangled heart.
But my projects either don't last long enough for me to find a new one
Or last too long and I simply get bored and throw it away.
See, that's why I can't have nice things.
Because either I'm to fragile to take care of the broken or too bulletproof to be sympathetic
And I can't help but smoke cigarette after cigarette wondering what would come next.
Which project will help me slip between the cracks again?
Which one can be the most self destructive without activly hurting myself or others?
I guess that too, has been lost in the spaces.

I once knew a man, he was married to a poet.
He would complain she never remembered to visit her mother.
She never remembered his allergies or his favorite color.
She never remembered to pay the phone bill or to wash her clothes.
She never remembered to take her medicine or take a shower.
She never remembered to take the trash out or to go grocery shopping.

But he got sentimental and told me what she always remembered.

"She always remembered," he said, " what we did in our first date.
She remembers my favorite cologne and what type of detergent irritates my skin.
She remembers when I tell her I love her.
She never forgets to tell it back.
She never forgets to love everyone she meets, greets everyone with a smile and enthusiastic wave.
I guess she can't remember little things like my favorite color or what time she has to go to work.
But she always remembers the important things
And I guess that's all I could really ask for."