You’ve got me writing again
But it isn’t exactly what you envisioned, is it
Because you were expecting a love song
But here we are, I’m exhausted and you’re exhausting
And my mental health can’t keep up
With your demands.

I’ve changed so much, used so many spoons
Gave all of myself to better myself to
Stand alone by myself
And here you are
Wanting to change
Who I made

And I’m tired.
I’m so tired of not being good enough
Of trying and being told
I don’t try enough
Of changing and being told
I don’t change enough
Of living and being told
My life isn’t enough
For you.

What do you want me to do
I’ve given you everything
And like I’ve always feared
You just want more.

I’m tired.
So here’s the poem you
Always wanted.
I hope it’s finally
Enough.

Will I miss you
or just the feel of
your jaw cupped
in my hand
and my fingers
tracing through
your hair
and your soft
soft skin
I wanted to
feel forever

You laid in my arms and tears dripped down your face,
each droplet containing all of the things you didn't say,
but I knew as each one slid across your skin and landed on mine
that you were what I've always wished for,
and everything I never knew I wanted,
and I could have died happy right there
all tangled up in you
So I cried, too.

“We get it, you write.”
What a laugh
You get it that I write
But you don’t understand
That this is the only way
I can say how I feel,
Say what I think,
And I can say it masked
By metaphors or
Similes
That would leave the
Reader guessing what
I mean.

“We get it, you write.”
But you don’t understand
That the words flow through
My head every waking moment
And I’m constantly thinking
Of the next line to be typed,
The next word.
I can’t go a day without
Thinking in poetry,
Without wanting to express
Myself with these paragraphs,
Without needing to release these
Feelings.

“We get it, you write.”
You get that it’s frustrating
That I take a random sentence
You may say that intrigues me
And turn it into something
That you never noticed when
You were saying it.
You don’t see the world of
Possibilities
That are unleashed with
Each word you mutter
Under your breath
But I do

“We get it, you write.”*
And I get it that you will
Never understand that
It isn’t just writing to me
Because, after all,
I am the
Poetry
And the poetry
Is me.

im losing weight

dropping my skin like
last night's wine stained dress

i will lose enough

that no one can
retrace their fingertips steps

i will shed the residue

of every finger and each
breath that still lingers

i will rid myself

of the mistakes that are
laced in each of my seams

i will disappear

so no one can see how
damaged i truly am.

I.
The window will always be closed between us -
you never gave me enough room to breathe.

II.
"Open the window,” you laid on my chest, suffocating me
and I needed some fresh air to get rid of your scent

III.
I leaned out and peered over the edge,
wondered just how long it would take to finally meet
The ground below if I leaned a little bit further and
Just let go, attempting to fly like the baby bird I
Always pretended to be.

IV.
The light filtered through and
The sound of traffic (brake squealing and honking)
penetrated my mind, knocking all
Thoughts of you (laughing and talking)
Out of my thoughts
Good riddance
Car accidents always sounded better, anyway

V.
My breath fogged up the glass
and I wrote you love
letters that disappeared
just as quickly as you did
But we were always meant to be
temporary just like
notes made out of
warm breath and window panes.

The skin on my wrist feels sensitive

As if just a brush of my finger could cut it open

And let lose the emotion that I have built

In my chest that is screaming to get out

And I could cry an ocean if it wouldn’t cover

My desk and distract me from work that I despise

And I could sleep for eternity, never blinking

My eyes, never seeing the light if it meant

I didn’t have to deal with the burning sensation

In my pupils as they try to expand and contract

And take in my surroundings that seem drab and

Gray on days like today when it’s cold out but

My heart is colder and I’m freezing to death

No matter how much warmth my sweater provides

How do you heat up an empty shell of a girl who

Despises the sun and prefers the rainy nights to

The broad daylight of the afternoon and hides

In darkness

Fallen words like skyscrapers
Bludgeoned by airplanes in the sky
Toppling over, creating destruction
When did this become my life.