You, the first, were totally wrong for me
But I couldn't resist falling madly in love with you.
We both knew we wouldn't last, you were sweet about it
But I made myself feel totally used by you.
What we had was pure meaningless passion
But as fun as it was, it meant I had those creeping feelings of worthlessness.
When we fought, I felt like my world was crashing down
But when we made up, I felt like you built it back up again.
You finally left me on a hot day in May
But I console myself with the fact that it was inevitable.

You, the current, are kind and genuine
But I rarely get to see that because I rarely get to see you.
We're such similar beings except you are a good person
But that's what made me love you.
I envy you your sense of compassion that radiates through your skin
But the fact that you project it on to me, gives me a sense of worth.
We share some fun-filled days and intimate nights
But I have to cherish every one of them as I never know when the next will be.
And who knows where this relationship will go
But I do know that you bring out the best in me, and I don't want to bring you down.

And I realise these men are polar opposites.
One made me feel better than him.
One makes me feel better because of him.
They may not always be in my heart,
But they will always be in my head.

I am so sorry. Truly, for everything I've done. It's 1:20am and I may as well be drunk for all the discretion I'm showing, but I need to say it before this fades as my feelings always inevitably do...I just reread some of past conversations, and I finally realized how much I gave up by not fighting hard enough. This entire year, I've managed to force myself not to care.......and honestly, I even managed to find some anger to throw at you, trying to convince myself that some part was your fault.
I was wrong.

And I don't know if it matters to you, and personally I don't even think it should, but I know that this may have been my one greatest regret. I can't make up for the mistakes, but you need to know that I am at least aware now that they were mistakes. That I couldn't see how you made me a better person and actually accepted me in the time when I thought no one could or should. That my blindness cost me something people search forever for.

And I see you now, unsure if you're happier or not. I sincerely hope you are...though it also scares me because that would mean I may have been the one who dragged you down.

I don't even know why I'm writing this, a flurry of passion, maybe, or a flood of shame. Or even jealousy that you already seem to have found closure while I am still awake right now, struggling with the consequences and the guilt.
Perhaps all of the above.

All I know is that these words in my head cannot be wasted, and they must be given to you before I can no longer send them or I no longer mean them, whichever comes first. They are for you to receive as you'd like, and as I finish, I'm beginning to see that this was as much, if not more, for me as it was for you. So I ask for nothing, and I presume nothing. I simply wanted you to know.

And I miss you. Because the tragic irony is, the one person I wish I could talk to about the chaos in my head is still you..

Perfection,
is an illusion, created by the mocking
sanity of the people
in this newspaper world.

Fairytales were something made up as well-
for the entertainment of children,
to enjoy their life,
their innocence
before reality took it all away from them.

No matter how far I chased the rabbit,
I was not Alice in Wonderland.
And even though the glass slipper fit,
I was not Cinderella.

My Hogwarts letter didn't arrive either;
when I was eleven.

And foolishly, at that time,
I cried.
I cried because my dreams were not real,
and that something this good could not exist in this world.

But-
I do not regret crying.
I cried for everything little in the world-
For my broken pipe that would never shoot water out in a straight line-
For my microwave that would always keep the food cold,
and the refrigerator that would always keep the food warm,
and for the 'tap tap' of the lady's heels
from the apartment above mine.

People say that heaven is a beautiful place
full of anything you could ever imagine.
Would it have all my dreams there, then?
In a plastic goody-bag, prehaps.
A certain one dished out to every person-
Angels looking left and right without a care for identity.

I hate it when my phone gets too warm.
I hate it when my favorite books get wrinkled.
I hate it when I lose my wireless mouse.
I hate it when the internet takes too long to load.
I hate it when the tempature of the room is either too cold, or too hot for my liking.
But I love all those hatreds.
I love how my phone gets too warm, warming my hands up in winter.
I love how my favorite books get wrinkled, so I can lovingly patch them up again.
I love how my wireless mouse always gets lost, because then I have an exuse to buy a corded one.
I love how the internet takes too long to load, because then I can go eat while I'm waiting.
I love how the tempature gets too cold or too hot, because then I can stick an ice cube on my forehead, or bundle up with my favorite scarf in winter.

My mother always told me to be mysef, that I was perfect just the way I was-
I tried,
but all my sentences from that point on would come with a stutter.
"D-Did you hear?"

The voice of the piano that strums so gently beneath my fingers,
I love that sound.  
It was the first time I could be sure-
if music had a face
it would smile,
teasingly,
desparingly,
at me.

And now I'm listening to "Light up the Sky" by YellowCard,
lying on my bed and thinking how much the lead singer
looks like Draco Malfoy.

I love the way poetry sometimes has a shape,
either a diamond,
or a heart.
And I am stunned, when I see those-
In fact, I saw one yesterday,
it was a tiger,
coliling around spairled trendles of
black and white
words.

I wonder how words move people to tears.
they're just words, anyway.
Nothing that would exist if humans weren't here.
but I love the way that I can actually cry
when I hear a beautiful piece of poetry.
I would say 'thank you thank you'
over and over again,
but I couldn't speak for the sound in my head.

And the stereotypical, rentless movies,
on sale-
half price!
at BlockBuster,
I bought them all,
just for the sake of spending some money,
I think.

And I watched them all, alone in the night with nothing but a bowl of popcorn by my side.
They were colorful, crazy, wild
And I drank in that feeling, throwing up my arms
with a freedom that I have never felt before.

I love writing poetry,
because words are truly beautiful.
And I love reading over my old poems, and scoffing at what I thought was eloquent before.
Because that means,
I have grown.
Something Infallible, Like Eternity,
That's a good title.
I love the clicking of keyboard keys, feeling the notch of F and J under my fingers.

And I love this world,
for all its imperfections and mistakes,
becuase then there can always be something better after it.
After all, if you're at the top, all you can do is fall.

The last time I saw you, you were standing there at the gate, watching me walk away  
I was trying to look cool, like nostalgia in motion
That’s a difficult thing to pull off when you’re constantly looking back 
You were smiling and waving, like it was all gonna be alright
I secretly hated you for that  
Everything in my being screamed at me to turn around, to run back to you
I wanted to take your hand in mine and pull you out of there like Wayne did to Cassandra…
Only I didn’t

I did my duty
I turned around one last time at the end of the longest hallway in the world and stole one last look
Blinking back the burning sensation in my eyeballs and the tightness in my throat
And then I plodded on
Just like I was supposed to
I had a stabbing pain in my gut like things would never be the same again
Like the WE we were was dying and going away forever  
At the time I dismissed that sharp unbearable thought as sentimental weakness
The sloshy musings of an admittedly overdramatic youth  
Never would’ve guessed my gut knew so much more than my thirsty brain
With its linear logic and high powered deductive reasoning
I told myself we’d be together again soon
I told myself to focus on the task at hand, and you’d be the reward waiting for me at the end of it all
The bright white light at the end of my long dark tunnel  
I told myself you’d be the sunshine on the other side of the mountain
Knowing somewhere deep down it wasn’t true  
Knowing somewhere deep down, that the WE we were
Now existed only in my fondest memories
Only in the dark moments I would occasionally indulge on the cool side of my pillow
I turned around
And walked out of your life

I miss you so much.

I miss the way the skin of your back felt when I scratched it.
I miss the way you made me feel,
The way you make me feel when I think about you twitching before falling asleep.
I giggle,
swallow
the simplicity of the yearning weight on my chest. Like I'm fighting for every second of the breath that I hold,
Like I am about to fall off the flat pre-humanistic Earth of a world that
never existed like it used to with
faith.

But now I can't feel anything.

So I play game after game solitaire just to fill the days without you.
It really is a losing game.
The odds are against me.
And so I reset my record
because the probability of winning is smaller with every hand,
because I'm smart enough to know, that's the way statistics work.

But I have to ask,

Does your back itch like a phantom limb?

My fingernails still crawl for your skin.
And for the crunch and cringe of sand
in my mouth after you've played too many hours of volleyball and it is soaked in your hair.
I want to feel the blisters of your sunburned back
and still believe with my whole heart that it is
perfect and peeling
under my nails.

I will take your flaws, I said.

Your ****** salsa is delicious, I said.

I hope you feel that burn
of jalapeños when you forget to
wash your hands.

I want you to know that I am pulling the painfully heavy yoke of the sweaty memories on my bed sheets.
Of ice melting in the grass.

I want you to know that I made a list of things that I absolutely hate about you,
but I still feel the warmth of that perfect week when you were fevered and deliriously content with me.

When I sit on the porch, I think I can hear your long board on the sharp asphalt. Like you're rounding the corner,
the cacophony
of your snoring over the
unbound bonding.

I remember how you liked that word. See?

I want you to know that when I miss you this badly,
I imagine you sleeping on that park bench in France and that pain turns bittersweet under the syntax of stars in a distant country.

And I will probably still send you this poem because I want you
to tell me that I am a good poet, because you never told me enough.

And then I want you to read it
again and again.

I want to keep THIS connection
because I believe in words
more than I ever believed in us.

I want that sentence to leave you scratching your head.
Like I just called your bluff.

I still laugh at your jokes.
And then tell myself that I never met you.
I reset my statistics until I have the upper-hand.

Because I know that this too shall pass,
but you need to know that I still look out my window when a car passes and hope that you may suddenly awaken to a knock knock at your front door.

I said that I was falling.
But I have not built enough callous on my heels from our walks to the hot tub in Spring's early light.

I want you to feel this scar
you failed to talk me out of inflicting.
What it's like to feel guilty.
What it's like to feel its tickling weight.

I don't want your callous.
I want to feel
my feet on the ground of an earth that's round
and realistic.
But most of all, I want to thank you for showing me that I still got this.
That I still have words, even if
I don't have you.

But what I wanted to say
most is

I could tell what you were thinking
******* me with
Lust-filled eyes

Drowning me with naughty thoughts
and an animalistic desire
as you crept closer,
licking your lips seductively
like a lioness moving in
for the ****

                                                                                     I don't think you realized how bad I wanted you too.

The little whimpers and whines of want
you would secretly secrete in my vicinity
made my heart maniacal
because I knew I would not
have you that night.