sunlight streams effortlessly through my window,
the dust and dead skin
floats through the air
creating that ray of light
that we all found to be beautiful,
as kids.
I sit staring,
contemplating
what I can say to take it back
a small part of me hopes you never read this
simply because I want to stay true to my word,
however, a larger
more powerful part of me
is ripping through my head and body, like stars that's got too close to each other
their gravitates and planets collide making a mess of galactic size.
I've eaten once
since I stepped away to try,
To try make my feelings die.
Not by choice
anytime I try and eat I throw up,
then cry
then throw up.
Only once could I keep it down.
I know how I used to be.
I used to hate the thought of being lonely,
now I know,
I know that I have changed
that I'm in love with you.
I don't just miss holding someone,
I miss holding you.
I miss the way your hair smelled
like waffle cones, ice cream and sweat
on the days you worked.
I also miss the days
when I would silently
try and guess what shampoo you used.
I miss how when we cuddled
I didn't have to wear socks
because your feet don't gross me out.
I miss slipping your little fingers in between my slightly bigger ones.
I miss your little frame.
I don't just miss being in the presence of somebody,
I miss the way you made a whole room
feel like that was the only room that mattered,
how any room became increadibly important
when your attention shifted there.
I have never even thought
someone peeing with the door open
While talking to me would be important
To be honest, I still don't.
I want you to *** with the door open and talk to me,
I miss the way it takes you thirty minutes to ***
and five to **** .
I miss the way
you spent twenty minutes after either
playing on your tablet.
I don't want to walk anywhere with anyone at two a.m.
But I'd walk to Chicago and back
if you said you were gonna do it.
I miss walking ever so slightly behind you
I could see the power behind your walk,
the confidence,
I envied and admired it.
And yes occasionally I would look at your ****.
I also love the way you like to be in front
because you have an ever present desire to be in power,
to feel in charge.
I don't care to compliment people
unless I have a motive.
Like I want positive comments at work
so I can get moved to serve
or I want something.
But with you, with you
my compliments were genuine,
innocent even.
I don't want to **** what I feel for you.
Because my love for you,
it's the only beautiful thing I've got.
I really wished I would've ****** it up
accepted that they were more fun than me.
I wish I hadn't let getting bailed on
by the only person I ever truly want to see
hurt so much.
I've told you time and time again,
"I'm not strong".
I know this probably seems less like a poem
and more like
a sad narrative of an impulsive child.
Maybe I'll make that the title.
But I'm in love with you.
I haven't felt this much sorrow before.
I've never been one to erupt into tears,
but I am.
A lot.
Right now
I have a little bit of your perfume
on my turtle necklace
when I habitually put it in my mouth
I have to choke back my tears.
I hope you read this.
I hope you don't.
I wish I could take you out on Saturday.
I wish i wasn't rambling.
I should probably sleep but
when I try and sleep sober
I have nightmares.
I'm looking for reasons to see you again.

Here’s to the father
who did his best for his daughter to feel secured,
who shielded her from the bad guys in her night terrors,
who worked hard everyday,
only to get shouted at for ‘excessively' asking
about the man in her life.

Here’s to the mother
who cooked the food her son loved,
who did the laundry every Wednesday,
who guided the steps he made,
who loved without asking for anything but to love her back,
only to get shut off of his life because he says,
“You care too much. I’m a man now!”

Here’s to the lady
who cries herself to sleep
for feeling guilty of what she did.
Here’s to you
who want her father to feel loved
but timid to speak the words
and to show him the truth,
so you yelled at him instead.

Here’s to the man
who stops his car to calm himself
who thinks of coming back to his mother
and tell her, “I’m a man now, but every man needs a woman, and it’s you my mom.”

Here’s to all the parents in the world
who freed and comforted us from the fiends
of our nightmare,
of our youth,
of our life.

Here’s to the young ones (or even not)
who think they are better off alone,
who think they are old enough to be on their own.
Here’s to all of us
who have been wronged.