I wish I loved you more.

I don't know how to love people
halfway
and I don't know how to stop after the second
shot.

But, I think I'm good at a lot of other things.
You always remind me of that.
And I was happy before without you,
so you left.
And I screamed your name in my sleep
for six months straight.
I'm just so, so sorry
I'm not
what you
needed.

Maybe you're lovable,
but don't kiss me.

Don't kiss me,
I'll break your heart,
not just in two,
but into scattered pieces
and I'll try to help you pick them up
but you'll curse my name
down into the dirt
and down into hell.

I don't want to,
but I will,
and maybe you're lovable
for someone who's better at loving.
Don't kiss me.

You’re the final rope
that’s been cast out to me
in the Northern Pacific
and I can’t feel my hands,
and I’m pretty sure there’s tiny icicles insides my veins,
and all I can think about is
how peaceful it would be for the ice
to make it’s way to my heart.

I can hardly feel my pulse.
I don’t want the rope,
take it away,
don’t you dare pull me to safety.
What’s my name again?
I can only remember yours.
No, I swear to God himself, I’m never grabbing that rope.
Let me rest and wash ashore far away from you.
I warned you, I always told you, it got harder to breathe
away from you.

I need you,
I need you,
I need you,
but it’s far too cold for me
to want you.

I have over two-thousand poems
free of the word ****,
so believe me, I don't say ****
because it's fun,
it's an emotion, but yet,
it's a social construct.

Don't tell me he didn't call me and scream,
over and over into the phone,
at 4 am,
"****, I ****** up
I'm so sorry, ****.
I swear to God,
I'll never **** up again,
just please don't ******* leave me
because you're the only ******* thing
I have left."

Because he did.
And sometimes,
after you find out
he just can't keep his lips off of
that girl's face,
the only word that comes out
is ****.

You say I never write poems about you
so I'd like you to know:

I'm very much
in love
with myself.
I don't need you to crawl into my ribcage
and kiss all the places you think are broken.

But I wouldn't mind
you all over and under
my skin.

A) I'm tired of lists
and writers who can hardly breathe
when they wake up in the morning
telling me how to wash him out of my hair,
and how to hug my father when I'm sad.
I don't have a father.

B) They never tell you how empty you'll feel
when you finally leave him. It's for the best, you know,
you deserve someone who loves you. Not that he didn't.

C) What the **** am I supposed to do or choose or say?

D) You can fall in love with yourself,
but that's not a prerequisite for love.
You are deserving of love regardless
of where you are in your journey.  

E) Stop listening to people who tell you
boys don't fall in love with sad girls.
You don't want a boy, you want a man,
and he will fall in love with you - a woman.
Your depression does not define you,
you are so much more than that, and he knows.

F) Most of all, do not listen
to your friends
that try to explain life to you
in lists.