This is a poem I’m writing for me
And sure, it’d be satisfying if you heard it
But even though you’ll never get it
I’ll write to ease the burden

I know you think that all this time we’ve been healing from each other
But in truth, you are healing from your father and your mother

True for many, but it wasn’t me who gaslit you, controlled, manipulated
Your childhood fears taken out on me, ego projected

The world beat you, I’m so sorry
You could’ve been great
You could’ve changed the world, like fate

With the intellectual potential of a hundred beings, the motivation and confidence of none
“Fearful and sad most of the time”
Diagnosis is a doorway to healing, not excusing abuse
A moral compass: pick one

And so I’m doing the real healing from the trauma you received
As a child years before I ever knew you
Forced to carry a burden that curved my spine
While you heal from being held accountable for your actions

How will you handle it now that you’re conpletely alone?
You do not deserve to be in a room with others
Until you can learn how to treat them
Like a child being punished for what they have done
Your consequences served up with a silver spoon given to you by mom and dad

I don’t miss you

Neil Hilborn

You said you had the song "***** Little Secret" stuck in your head all day. It's been in mine now, too, for two days. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We're friends now. Friends again. Of COURSE I never stopped loving you but it was six years ago I've moved on! I really have though. I'll always love you, but I have moved on. We're friends now! It's just a couple drinks and then you go home. A drink among two friends who used to be in love. We've seen each other over the years since then! It was fiiiine! ... in a bar surrounded by ten of my friends... why wouldn't it be fiiiine!... to have a couple drinks with your ex while his girlfriend is out of town it's INNOCENT. But then you missed the last train and we were both kind of drunk and I'm not sure at what point I found you mostly naked in my bed and I asked you "what color are your eyes?" as I looked into them when you were on top of me between kisses. "Hazel" you said. "I remembered them being blue." "This can't happen again, she can't know, you can't tell her." "I promise I wouldn't do that to you..." I really won't. But. Why did I remember your eyes being blue? While I was looking into them, for a brief moment, maybe I loved you again?

The first time I saw him, I was just barely 16 years old. The types of boys I went for at just barely 16 years old were soft, and feminine, with bangs in their face they'd flip back to look cute. At just barely 16 years old, he was a man. A 19 year old man with a beard. A man with a beard who smoked cigarettes. A man with a beard who smoked cigarettes, marijuana, and drank alcohol. His shirts had holes in them and his jeans were frayed at the bottom. He was the exact opposite of my type. Truly, I thought he was gross. At just barely 16 years old, a man with a beard who smoked cigarettes, marijuana, and drank alcohol was terrifying, and intimidating, and the exact opposite of my type, and of course I fell madly in love with him. I don't believe in one true love. Disney movies tried to convince me that I should and do, but, something always bothered me about the idea. I don't  believe in one true love, but I believe in soulmates. I don't believe in one true love, but I believe in love, and I believe that one of the biggest tragedies human beings inflict upon themselves is preventing themselves from being with someone they love. So then why? So then why am I doing exactly that? I still see him the way I saw him the first time I saw him. Except... less gross. I see you. I still see you. I see that you're sick, and I see that you're suffering. And I see that I am the reason that you're suffering, and I see that you're making me suffer in return. At least, I see that that's how you see it. So, now I'm suffering without you because I'm choosing to, because I keep getting told that I'm better off without you, even though better is a feeling and I don't… FEEL... better, and I know that you're better off without me.

What does it say about humankind that it defines happiness in a rectangular paper with a number and this symbol on it: $ ?
And there is no escape for those who don't define as such. If your definition is anything but $, €, £, ¥, and so on, you, apparently, are not allowed to eat, drink, have a shelter
reproduce
wear clothes
Have a voice...

He looked into my eyes, deeply, and seldomly blinking. His body was trembling, as if the very earth herself quaked within his veins. He was breathing heavily; the intake shallow, the output, shallower still. His skin was damp from the nerves, of course, not the heat. For it had barely begun. He reached for my hand and held it tightly and a part of me, for but a moment, enjoyed the fact that he needed me. He clung to me with his face pressed against my chest occasionally emitting a quiet moan. Eventually, I felt his wet warmth soak into my shirt. It hurt me, but I didn't make him move. I stayed still and held him until the panic attack was over, until the wet tears dried. This is how I defined my love; how I make love. Acceptance, compassion, guidance, and a friend.

I know it's better this way but that doesn't mean I won't miss...

Your breakfasts in bed
You teaching me how to skateboard (by the way I ****** a lot but I wasn't as bad as I made myself seem. I just liked you holding my hand)
Singing with you (when you thought I actually sounded good)
Our long talks deep into the night when the sun was coming up.
Being your big spoon and cuddling you like I was the guy.
The way your eyelashes looked ridiculously long when wet.
That little wink before walking out of a room.
Your super comfy clothes.
Watching movies... On the floor.
The way you screamed like Hank Hill when you saw a spider.
Tickling you, even though it made you hate me.
The way you're so passionate about the things you love.
The fact that your eyes match the sky.
Waking up beside you.
The way you never knew I knew you always turned around to make sure I got on the bus but I always saw you.

I know it's better this way, but never experiencing any of these things ever again doesn't feel better.