**** me

like you know how
like how you did a few weeks ago
like i’m a meaningless ant

**** me

like how you do every time i dedicate words to you
like how you drown yourself in your own convictions
like how you’ve seen others do before

**** me

like you would if we were not friends
like i know you want to
like i know you have before

**** me

like i wish you would
like i wish you would jab the knife in my heart to stop the pain
like i wish you were actually honest in your beliefs
like i wish you touched me with bloodied hands instead of careful ones
like i wish you would get sick of everyone else and their bodies
like i wish you would just be like everyone else so this wouldn’t eat me up inside
like i wish you were proud of the things you discard
like i wish i still appeared on your mind like how you do on mine
like i wish you killed me instead of reviving me.

there’s only so much more dirt
i can pile over this tomb.
there are only so many doubts
i can bury
until i’m swallowing my tongue.
there are only so many times you can claim
you’re a man
before you start to sound like a child.
there are only so many times i can lie
before you see right through me.

i’m not dying to the sound of a lonely armageddon in this cycle of seasons.
just slightly absentminded in nightmares that i refuse to end.
once you stop trying to please
the shadow of another human,
you start to awaken without screaming.
but i’ll always awaken with clenched fists
a quiet, bubbling temper
simmering on the surface.
i won’t point them eye level to you this time,
i’ve learned to shift blame,
i’ve learned to understand your accidents.
and if one of them was me,
i forgive her.

it'll always be impossible
to forget
you.
in some kind of metaphorical way,
you'll always be standing rain-soaked
on my doormat.
the moon might sparkle,
your name floating inside its craters,
and i'll see every shape you indented into me.
i might lose the sound of your voice
echoing in an empty room,
my ears pressed against the walls
sobbing, pleading for myself to remember it.
if i ever get stuck on the interstate,
would i just stare at your phone number,
but refuse to call it?
i remember may, i remember march;
i was alive then.
i remember you with your hands that moved
up and down the seat,
i was always afraid
to attach some kind of meaning to you;
thought i betrayed myself when i did.
wrote so many poems you were the outline of,
almost forgot you entirely.

i'm living now with scars,
an absence of your space,
a loss of appetite,
a stained mouth,
a stomach filled with butterflies,
an esophagus polluted with their dusty wings.
i'm living now
with pages of writing dedicated to how it felt,
how i started to believe
i should've been someone else,
un-phased by your mercy.
i wonder if pennsylvania left you
in its clutches,
i wonder if ohio ever feels too foreign.
i wonder if i ever died on those
back roads,
i wonder if you were ever actually scared like me.

i drove past your street two times this week
but you’re in a different state
and i’ll never step out of the car.
i want you now as you are,
i feel you believe in me in a selfless way.

two times this week
and i already want to give in,
but what if you have a lover and
she’s soft and patient and so much less afraid than i am?
i’ll make your nights an inescapable daydream,
i’ll never make you worry.

why am i just figuring this out,
that you’re all i needed?
i went to a million parties that i wished i could’ve found you in
but you were in a different state.
i keep thinking i’ll see your face
where you are not
and isn’t that a sign?

if i admit this, will you cower?
will you have not felt every single moment as i did?
i don’t want to misinterpret this.
instead i’ll drive by your street two times
and remember how it felt to be loved,
not wasted.

our bodies touch, but what did it mean?
is selfishness all that you’re seeking?
are my highs and lows getting you off?
do you see my attachment rubbing off?
if i cry any more tears,
i’ll be a river, a stream,
a valley beneath your holy mountainside.
our lives touch but what did it mean?
nothing to me when before i was less naive.
i’m watching others finding new lovers
turn them inside out
but they stay.
i’m contemplating whether it’s a me thing
or if i can’t find what i’m searching for.
our bodies touch, but was it more than
what we had on our lips?
i’m lacking inhibitions, so grossly optimistic
and i end up collapsed on the floor.
the floor of your heart,
is there any room left,
were there ever any guests?
i’m not even angry at you,
only mad at myself for believing
there was any room left
for you, your ego and i.

why am i hurt by the fact that she sings in tune to your melodies?
you might not love me, i do not love you,
but why is it that i am hurt by you
dancing hand in hand with some woman or man?
there is no allegiance
yet my heart coils and burns
when i see you with her
and for that,
i wish i could punish myself.
i have no strength to bear,
no commitment to show,
but i am paralyzed by everything you do.
i don’t wish to sing in tune,
i don’t pine to harmonize
with your wavering melodies
hanging on my lips like a jungle vine.
i don’t wish to love you
for the image that you represent,
i don’t wish to love you with the power i have left in me.
why am i so powerless now when all that shot through my veins before
was strength?
why do i allow myself to submit to
an idea that isn’t even alive,
cannot come to fruition?
why must i try to align myself for a man who’ll never attempt to know me
for more than just what lies outside?
but i am hollow, and he must know,
can sense it from a mile away.  
why do i let the chance strangle me,
tame me, multiply until it is unable to be fought?
i have fists the size of my anger;
watch me be more than just my humanistic desires.
watch me burn this entire village down
just so the music cannot be heard.
watch me discover that the fire is warmer than your touch and so
i will shake in indignation
and swallow myself up in the flames of my rage.
i do not love you,
i love the way your ashes look on the ground: lifeless and shriveled.