when I miss you,
I don't think about the good times.
I don't think about all those hours I spent talking to and thinking about you.
I don't think about all those jokes and laughs and stories.
I don't think about all those poems I wrote about you.
I don't think about all of those songs that reminded me of you.
I don't think about the good times.
I think about the bad.
I think about the tears and the fights.
I think about the lies and the betrayal.
when I miss you I think about what you were doing behind my back.
I think about who you were texting and who you were flirting with.
I think about the blatant disregard for my boundaries and my feelings.
I think about how we never went a month without fighting.
I think about the warnings from my friends and those from my own mind.
I think about all the sleepless nights and wasted days.
When I miss you, I don't give myself more reasons to.
I don't think about the good times because the good times made me want to go back.
Even if the good times were few and far between.
even if in the end, every good time was soaked in the memory of the bad.
I remind myself why I left.
I remind myself why I made the right choice when I blocked and deleted your number.
I remind myself that it is okay to miss you, just not okay to want you back.

when old people talk about their past loves
they don't talk about what it was like when their love left.
they don't talk about the feeling the next morning when all you want to do is call.
they don't talk about how the first week is hell.
they don't talk about how every part of you wants to go back.
they don't talk about the feeling that all of the work you put in is now wasted.
they don't talk about the feeling of losing a best friend,
someone who you always knew you could talk to.
when old people talk about their past loves,
they always say that the love was worth the pain
they always say that they have no regrets except for the fact that it ended.
they don't talk about the hours of pining and crying, trying to figure out if there was anything that you could have done to make them stay.
they don't talk about the hours of replaying events trying to see what you missed.
when old people talk about their past loves, they always talk about what it was like to have them, never talking about the sinking feeling of losing them.
but you can always read it on their face if you look close enough.
you can see the longing and the pain.
the hurt that comes with knowing that that person will never come back

I want the kind of love that young children can't stand
the kind that remind old people of their young loves
the kind where we spend hours on the phone talking about nothing.
the kind built on trust and security,
the kind where we really just enjoy each other's company.
the kind that they write novels about.
the kind that are in those fairy tales that we were told not to believe.
we would defy all these statistics that adults like to throw around.
the kind that goes from high school sweethearts to an old bickering married couple.
the kind that has slow dancing in the kitchen and photo albums upon photo albums.
the kind where our families get along,
the kind with family reunions and weekly dinners.
the kind of love where no one wonders if we will divorce in a year.
the kind of love that lets us just hold each other all night.
the kind with loving bickering and food fights.
the kind where we both cry on our wedding day and we fall in love all over again every morning when we meet each others eyes.
the kind where we both planned an anniversary surprise and end up surprising each other.
I want the kind of love where we are just so in love it is sickening.
the kind people would **** for and the kind we would sacrifice the world for.

do you feel regret?
regret for your vote?
Do you feel remorse?
realizing you're a minority too?
we stole this land, now the original inhibitors are in camps.
this country is built on the blood soaked ground of natives,
and was created on the backs of immigrants,
but suddenly you decide that they are the problem.
the kids are dying
guns are in schools and going to the hospital bankrupts people.
we've got a felon in the office and people dying on the streets.
eggs are $6 a dozen and people can't afford to eat.
Big pharma is getting richer while diabetic people die every week because they can't afford insulin.
are you just now realizing what him as president really means?
our military might be strong but our people are feeling weak
ICE is in schools but pedophiles and rapists walk free,
Billionaires get richer but life gets harder for you and me.

Algebra makes me feel stupid.
Equations and inequalities,
algebra makes me feel stupid.
I could have an A in the grade book, but that doesn't prove that I understand.
lost in class, barely turned that in before it was late
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
So I drift into my own world.
But at least in my world, I'm not alone.
Algebra makes me feel stupid,
it's not my teacher's fault, but my own.
The issue is, I run on academic validation, my need for it replaces food or water,
so I sink.
pretend- and persuade them to believe
make them think I know what I am doing,
but there is a thin line between sinking and sailing, and I tend to use it as a jump rope
the brink of failure.
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
once gifted, now barely scraping by.
once impressive
what makes me impressive?
certainly not my ability to solve complex algebraic expressions.
is it my ability to fake it?
to only raise my hand when I know the answer?
Is it too late?
is it too late to know the answers?
too late to say I don't understand and ask questions?
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
once excelling in school, now regular.

do you think that it is a date?
is it too late to clarify?
is it too late to take?
to take back the words I always would say?
do you think that it is a date?
watch horror movies over call?
Is it too late,
to tell you that I don't like horror?
did you take that the wrong way?
not in movies, not on dates
I don't like horror
I meant it as a date
I regret it
but it is too late

my mama is not the women who made me'
my mama is the women who raised me
the one who taught me kindness, and patience
the one who taught me boundaries
and late night movies,
drinking coffee at 6 in the morning
on my way to a tournament
the one who always came to support me
the one who I replied on
the one I call mom
she may not have literally made me,
but  I like to think that she is the one who made me, me