I always try to choose my words carefully
Each syllable like an incision with a scalpel
Well intentioned and good mannered
In hopes of removing the ticking time bombs placed inside you and me by those that have left us behind
But one wrong slip
One accidental miscalculation
Obliterates the progress that I have so carefully tried to create.
Could one word have changed it all?
Could one different syllable be the reason that you are still here?

In my dreams,
I know the feel of your lips on my neck better than anything else.
I know how tight you hold me when the night is cold and the wind is unsettling.
I know the sound of your laughter when it's in the other room and how loudly you sing in the shower.
I know exactly how rough your hands are from moving earth around in the garden.
I know how cold your feet are against mine;
how your hand fits perfectly into my lower back;
how your head feels resting on my inner left thigh.
I know every inch of you,
only in my dreams.

Don't fall in love with the broken boy.
I will tell you from experience,
Don't do it.
You may think you will fix him,
You can bind up his wounds,
That your love will fix all that's broken in his life,
But I'll tell you,
It's all a lie.

You can't change a man,
You never can.
They'll tell you that time and time again and you'll shake your head and scoff thinking,
"They don't know what I can do."
You can't.

You yourself are broken.
You thought he'd fall in love with you and that your anxiety isn't that big of a deal.
That maybe it'll even be a part of you that he'll love you because of and in spite of.
It's not something to romanticize.

He'll try to fit into the mold he thinks you have for men,
And he'll give up once he believes he'll never fit into that.
And he'll break your heart leaving you in the process.
He claims this is only temporary and that it'll be over soon,
He just needs to figure himself out.

But if it's not goodbye, why does it feel like you're nowhere to be found?

I wanted to shout
to jump about
To sing and dance
like a lady from France
I wanted to cry
My chest swelled with pride
I felt me saying goodbye
to the poets I knew that died

I felt the pain
of the pleas to refrain
The ache of love
The fickle dove
The reason to write
was all encapsulated
Bloodletting , begetting
I so was so related