I came across a letter I never sent,
hidden somewhere I had forgotten.

I'm sorry I never gave it to you
I think it would have helped.

It read out all the memories
I'd forgotten we'd ever made.

But I'm glad I never sent it and
I'm glad you never read it.

I feel like I'm trying to keep it together
for everyone except myself
and I'm eventually going to
explode
or implode
but it still wouldn't matter
because I would be the only one
willing to pick up the pieces
glue myself back together
and clean up the damage
and everyone else's while I'm at it
I was built strong
a sturdy cornerstone
and people need me
they just don't assume I need them too

~
      
           If
            I
        Could
         Find
           The
            Rhymes...
    Would
         You
             Be
                Mine?

~

scientists say that a fingerprint develops when a baby is only 12 to 19 weeks along and that it is impossible for two people to develop the same print and although i believe in science i am still hoping there is a chance that someone in the world might have the same etches on the tip of his fingers as you did because to find the same hair colour and the same eye colour and the same smile is almost too easy but your touch against my skin made even the brightest of fireworks envious and darling something like that is irreplaceable

What I found really ironic
Was that my head teacher stood up in front of us and said
“I know what you’re thinking and why you’re thinking it;
Because you’re teenagers and therefore you think you know everything.”

And I wonder if he ‘knows’
That every day I question
The conversations
Between constellations
And the persistence
Of my selfish existence
And I wonder if he ‘knows’
That every day I question
What colours we choose for crying
And what I gain from lying
And the age at which it became OK to play pretend games again
Or whether we even ever gave them up.

And I wonder if he ‘knows’
That what he’s said is ironic
Or if he really thinks he made a good point.