“I guess I’ll just have to forget about you,”
(You idiot…)
“That shouldn’t be hard,” you said, looking away
You patient angel, what did you endure?

Forgetting’s going well, just swell,
As I’m sure you can tell,
And my soul I would sell
To escape from this hell
Of living every day without you

I still have old photos of us,
Grinning on the beach,
I was a kid with my heart as big as my chest,
And you were wearing my necklace,
The one I gave you as a keepsake
To bridge the distance at least a little

It was 5 a.m. and you were on my mind as usual,
And I guess I’m just glad I kept the photos,
As these mementos are invaluable to me
Even if I was wont to burn everything once
When my world was collapsing
And the apocalypse felt nigh

Nostalgic melancholy gives way to pause
As I stare at us holding each other,
And I feel like I’m peering into a parallel universe,
One in which I never knew pain,
And only knew love,
Only knew you

Maybe this is my penance,
And if so, that’s fine,
I can write you poems
Until my ink runs dry
And my fingers break

I’ve many regrets, but chief among them
Is not writing you poetry sooner,
Sure, I sang to you,
Something I’ve not done with a soul since, 

But I wish I could have told you
How much you meant when it mattered,
When I wasn’t being strangled and tongue tied
With fear of being too open

You fell asleep in my arms to the sound of me reading books,
But I wish I could have written you lullabies,
So that instead you’d sleep
Wrapped in the warmth of my gentle hymns

It took this cataclysm for me to abandon my fears
And awaken a poet that had laid dormant for a lifetime
And I can at least thank you for that

Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.