we’re all hung up on someone
whether it’s your highschool sweetheart
who now lives in Seattle, 4 hours away
or the man who had a one night stand with
when his wife was out of town
whether it was your boss
who you never had the guts to confess your love to
or your ex-husband
who ended up leaving you for a younger version
we go through the motions
we meet new people
and every now and then, we even fall in love
but at the end of it all
we're still stuck in the past
frozen to the memories
glued to the 'what-ifs' and the 'maybes'
we can’t help but want that one person
we can’t help but wish you were him
we can’t help but worry that he’ll never be ours
we’re all hung up on someone
*& I’m hung up on you

nothing will ever change my love for you:
not the hurt or the pain,
nor the fights or the rain.
Never will I forget, even in the end,
that we'll still be left
with memories of glances and kisses,
nights and wishes,
feelings and blisses.

I've become alive
the day I wrote your name for the first time.

last Easter I wrote a poem for you
with rhyming words and beautifully constructed stanzas
about the way your hair looks and the way I wanted you and the way things were changing but -
April came back around all too fast this year and I don't write poems like I used to.
this isn't poetry.
this is October nights with glazed eyes,  burning throats and so much trauma, so much trauma, so much ******* trau-
this is November afternoons smoking my lungs black and tears that i drowned in for every day of that month.
this is December mornings when I spent all my money on Christmas decorations because I thought it would be my last.
this is New Years Eve, clutching her back and sobbing into her shoulders because I couldn't believe I made it - how the hell did I make it?  this is me thanking her, and her, and her too for stitching me back together. this is champagne and the grace of God.
this is February when you came back to me  and as much as i wanted to throw dirt back in your face, I held onto it in hopes of planting something new.
this is March when it wouldn't stop snowing.
this isn't poetry.
this is April,
this is me taking the dirt and burying the idea of us six feet under.
this isn't poetry,
this is Spring and this is the last time you will be mentioned with it.

If you give a girl a with a big heart your broken pieces,
she will gently pick them up and carry them in her soft hands,
and pay no mind to your sharp edges.
She will try to glue you back together
and she’ll do it in a way that made you forget you were ever broken.
With scratched finger tips and ****** palms,
she’ll lift you up to the sun,
letting it's blinding rays shine through you
to show you that even the worst things have things to love in them
and that even the shattered can again be whole.

If you give a girl with a big heart your body,
she will study you like an archaic God.
She will learn your curves and surfaces like braille,
she will adjust her hearing to the pitch of your laughter
so that no matter how far apart you become,
her ears will perk up like a dog's when you giggle,
and she will smile, knowing that you smile.

If you give a girl with a big heart your time,
she will make each second feel like infinity,
and each sunset like the end of the world.
You'll forget that the universe is as vast and wondrous as it is,
because you will be so captivated by the light that she emits
right where she sits,
by your side.

And if you take from a girl with a big heart,
please,
for the love of God,
do not take it all.

If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember that her love is not a renewable resource.
The wind and the sun and the water will forever be there to serve you but
she will run dry, and become another fact of history that will one day be forgotten.

If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember how sharp your edges were before her,
how lifeless your body was before she touched it,
and how meaningless time was before she made it into something magical.

i wondered about a kiss
the way it would taste
like tahaitian vanilla
and your sunday coffee
down by greenwich village
where we saw all the worlds stage
through a rose colored glass
and those heavy eyes
when the grass was greener
and you left me there to die