she was never
the type of person
to gift me things.
Christmases
and birthdays
were just a sad reminder
of that.
i always have hope
that this year
will be the year.
so when the day came
that she spontaneously
gave me a bottle
of dollar store
vanilla brown sugar perfume,
i nearly cried.
this little gift
that meant nothing to her
meant everything to me.
it meant she knew
that vanilla was my
favorite scent.
it meant she knew
that the perfume
my aunt had given me
for christmas had run out.
it meant that
deep down
she cares about me.
whenever i smell
the scent of vanilla
i will close my eyes
and think
of that perfume,
mom.

wilted roses
and torn photographs.
the signs
of heartbreak
that litter the floor
of my bedroom,
the same bedroom
where we once
lay together
under a warm pink blanket,
connecting
glow-in-the-dark stars
and dreaming about
our future
of shared apartments
and Mr. and Mrs. coffee mugs.
falling asleep
to the sounds
of ed sheeran
love songs
tangled
in each other's arms.
running hands
across skin
and whispering
"i love you"
with the smell
of wine on our breath.

these hollow bones
don't feel the pain
your merciless hands
always seem to convey.
i see the scars
and welts
and bruises
but the stars
in my eyes
shine brighter
than the warning lights
flashing in the distance.
no matter
how many tears
i catch in this jar
it'll never open my eyes
to the love
that's drifted afar.
and every time
i feel your bittersweet kiss
i can't resist
because the way
you make me feel inside
is stronger than
the physical pain
hidden behind
these sunken eyes.