slowly everything seems to be adding up
and i'm finding where things went wrong
but i don't know what to do with it
how can i fix myself?

it hurts
breathing,
living,
existing.

it hurts knowing that
wherever i go
i'll be stuck in
this fear of -
i don't even know what.

but in the darkest parts
of my mind i can see
his face, his smile, his
eyes and the way they
drank me in like liquid love.

it didn't even happen
like that,
in a dark place,
but i'll never be able to see
him without the hatred
boiling inside
and bubbling away.

it hurts to be sitting,
having a good day
and one thing reminds
me of him,
of his moment of triumph,
and my stomach caves
and i feel the tears threaten.
i close my eyes
and wish everyone away.

i keep thinking that he loved me,
he said so,
he said it and i believed it
and for so long
i forced myself to believe
that what happened
was okay
because
he loved me.

she was always looking away
at the river, the sun, her phone
never did her eyes meet anyone
else's, and she never smiled

she was sick and fragile
and never smiled
but people loved her anyway
as they hugged her and held her close
she never smiled

she'd answer their questions
in the least personal way
and they wouldn't ask
too many questions or
anything that was personal
and she'd ask many questions
leading into personal parts
of their lives

she sat alone
with her hair hanging like
a curtain in front of her face
hiding her brokenness from the world

worst of all, she hid behind this falseness
that she showed off to the world
a blank mask that held everyone
at an arm's length
and she never smiled

i read a poem that made me question
the things i've been calling poetry
it made me feel that what i write
simply isn't enough

i could do better

the poem was about a woman
and i felt whole
and the words weren't for me,
about me,
but i felt whole
in ways i can't explain
and i'll never be able to

but i thought to myself
that this is poetry
and this is what words
are supposed to do
they're supposed to make
you feel things
regardless of what
and i kept wondering
if my words
have that effect

i want people to yern,
long,
hope,
survive off my words,
devour them
and i want my words
to leave them longing
and hoping for just a bit more

and i read this poem not once,
not twice,
but three times,
eating up the words like they
were the last meal on earth
and i felt whole

it hurts that you're so far away
and you don't need me
and you're so busy living
and i'm left behind,
forgotten,
something to be dealt with
on a rainy, quiet day

with a mouth of
venom
you pronouce
your love