She’s in heaven now."
What if she’s not?
She hated her own body and
I don’t blame her.
Do you know how many times
he screamed at her that she was worthless?
She was beautiful,
and so am I.
But we both didn’t know
how to believe that.
All we knew were black eyes,
police cars, make-up cheques,
and drunken fights.
We knew screaming and hate and malice.
I haven’t felt love in two years.
I hope God’s sleeping
because if he’s awake
and alive and well then
I swear to God himself that
I never want to know him.

Don’t ever tell me again
that you know,
that you understand -
you don’t and you can’t.
Because you are who I used to be;
breaking hearts and losing count
of the amount of times you kissed someone
just to feel warmth in your frigid, wandering body.
I know who you are,
and I knew before I let my lips breathe your name
the very first time
that I could never make a home inside
a body as cold as yours.
I tried anyway.

You can’t understand.
but just know,
that someday you’ll fall in love
(not with a girl)
with a woman’s collarbones
and freckles, and
sleepy conversations at 3 am.
You will understand,
and you will know,
when she wrenches out your heart
and watches it fall to the bottom
of the Pacific,
because she doesn’t have time for love
or you, or loose ends.
She moves one thousand miles a minute,
and you will understand
what it feels like
to make a home inside a heart
that doesn’t want you.

Don’t kiss me.
Unless you first understand that
I’m fine,
I’m not broken,
but I will break your heart,
(I don’t want to, but I will).
I don’t do commitment,
I do drunken kisses, picnics under trees,
trips to Paris, and sleepovers
in those tents we made when we were kids.
If we fall in love in the process,
that’s fine.
I’m fine,
(you’ll be fine, too)
but I won’t stay.
I’ve heard the sound of too many
hearts breaking through thin walls.
I promise (I think),
that will never happen to me.

So, don’t kiss me.
Not here, not ever.
Unless you’re good at goodbyes
and can cut strings cleanly
(without frayed ends)
when everything we ever had
screeches to halt.

Once upon a time,
my father and mother
tied themselves together
with vows woven under the roof
of a tiny church, and rings glued
onto their fingers.

Ten years later,
the vows were frayed
and the rings cracked
and fell off of their fingers
in shattered pieces.
Broken walls, ****** knuckles,
and bad words I wasn’t allowed to say.
They hushed and hushed me,
but I was only seven years young,
and still I was old enough to know
the screaming and fighting
would never, ever cease until
the papers were signed
and we moved seven states away.

I was only seven years young
and I made myself a promise,
I would never end up like my parents -
I would not end up like them.
I would not end up like them.
So, I will never fall in love with anyone,
not even myself,
and definitely not with him.

I promised myself I wouldn’t waste
another ******* minute
chasing things that wouldn’t satisfy:
chasing ***** with ***
and letting boys I didn’t care about
chase me, but they didn’t care about me either.
I didn’t (and maybe I still don’t) understand
why two people have to be in love.
What if we both want each other,
what if we both don’t want to love?
The thing is, the outcome of that
is always this:
broken phones, empty bottles,
and endless drives at four am
when we both aren’t talking
because we can’t talk without screaming.
I swore to God I’d leave,
two months ago,
but it’s been six months since
you moved six hours away.
I swore to God I’d leave,
but I haven’t been able to pack up my bags
that I unpacked in your heart.

I forget what it’s like
to have my heart beat freely;
you’ve always controlled my blood flow,
squeezing blood with your palms
through my arteries,
softly suffocating -
pump, pump, pump.

I don’t know how it feels
for my stomach to make its way
up my throat, only when I had the flu.
Not every single day, when I see you
reaching your hand towards that girl’s heart
while you distract her with your lips on her face.

I haven’t forgotten how to kiss my father goodnight
and how to spend time alone in the trees.
I know what it’s like to heal a broken heart,
but please, promise me, before you reach in
and take her heart with your left hand,
release mine from your right.
Don’t worry about sealing it back in my chest,
I can do that just fine.
Just drop it right there,
I want to stitch back in what’s mine.