If you would have asked me to stay
i would not have said no,
it would never have meant yes

I despised those pants you used to wear, the ones that fell too short and landed too far above your shoes.
it made you look like a child who had out grown his pants.

your mom gave me a look of distrust; she was always right about me.

I didn't cheat on you the morning in March when you accused me, although I wanted to.
in June I cheated with the bartender from the karaoke bar where you sang Bob Marley that one spring night.

I thought I would regret it, I didn't.
I told you I loved you because you said it first, I didn't mean it for another 3 months.

I never liked your singing voice,
or New York City.
I still dream of the way you looked at me the first day we danced.
I cried about you last week stuck in LA traffic.

I think about you every other morning, and when I'm drinking red wine.

you were always a lover. sometimes I just needed a friend.

Ive tried to convince myself it wasn't my fault-
the truth is you would never have been enough
my burden to bear is that I'm addicted to chaos… excitement… fire.

Your burden is that you cared too much.

you are tranquil, I am a hurricane.

I want to make you laugh again.

We live in the reality of spirituality
The universe only lets us think we make the rules, so we'd believe
we had the power to pick our own lovers.
Well the Truth is we were handpicked for each other.

You were always going to be mine, I was always going to be yours.

To the people I once loved loudly,
the ones I am no longer in daily conversation's with.
I still love you.
Quietly,
in the moment the sun rise's,
and the last breath before the sun falls.

if i stopped eating
people would compliment me
on how thin i am
and when they saw the bruises
they pressed their mouths
shut tight
and just joked about
how clumsy i could be
with their easily uneasy smiles.
i don’t know if they
just didn’t see
or if they just weren’t
looking.
introducing him
to my friends was like
living in a ****** part of town,
having someone over
and hearing the racket of gunfire
outside of your window
and then having them say to you,
“oh, listen,
you can hear the fireworks
from here!”
and being too embarrassed
to correct them.
so maybe i’m not sure
if i believe in fireworks;
bombs are too often
mistaken for them.
but i can distinguish the difference
now, i can, and i will not
teach my daughters that when
he pushes you down in the dirt
and pulls on your pigtails
it’s because he likes you.
because when i covered up
those bruises on my body
in too-light concealer
like i’d never learned how to cover up
love-bites and tired eyes,
there was a voice in the back of
my mind that was telling me
that he only pushed me
down because he loved me.
i do not want a voice
inside my daughter’s heads
that sounds like me,
telling them that they deserve
their split lips.
i will tell my daughters to wear
boxing gloves over their manicures,
i will tell my daughters that
“love” is not an excuse,
i will tell my daughters that no one
is allowed to give you
a black eye and expect you
not to punch back harder,
i will tell my daughters
that you are not weak for getting hurt
because the weak ones
are those who let their anger
and insecurities
manifest themselves
in fists and words.
i will tell my daughters
the difference between bombs and fireworks,
i will tell them that they may sound
the same sometimes,
but fireworks don't ****
innocence.

Your mom calls and says she's sending a plane ticket home
you email your college professors and explain that you'll have to make-up the midterm exam
you decide to drive the 1,547 miles back home instead of taking a flight.
you ask your roommate for any ******* she has left from Saturday night  
you suddenly realize that last weekend will be the last time you dance for a while.
eventually you'll realize that you will never smile the same again.
You show up to your brothers funeral hungover and smelling of cheap gin.
you curse god, but you don't abandon him
you've always loved a good horror film, the blood and gory always thrilled you.
but this is real life, and romanticizing death is a luxury afforded only to hollywood films.
you hardly cry, tears will never be the glue that put together the pieces of your broken life.
you scream, and scream and scream.
but you're never too lost to be found

You will never write poetry,
but you will always understand
my need to slip out of bed at 4am and put pen to paper
as I draft love stories
that will never quite compare to ours.