Promise me this:
Promise you won't call anymore.
And you won't send me flowers.
You won't listen to our song.
And you won't build me all these towers.
You won't speak to me ever.
Nor write me a single letter.
*But over all, promise me you'll keep breaking your promises,
especially the ones you just vowed to.

I remember the night
when mom had kicked us out
and threw our clothes
into the street

I remember when she said
Leave. Get the hell out of here and never come back.
and so we did
with two dollars and thirty-seven cents
in the pockets
of your faded jeans
and a piece of gum
from hours earlier
stuffed into my favorite pair
of ripped jeans

I remember looking back
at her when we pulled out of the driveway
and seeing her stare at me
with such anger and hatred
but I forced my eyes
to leave hers and take in
every detail possible
of the house standing behind her

I remember asking you
where we would go that
October night and your hesitated reply
was unsure with a shaken voice
but you reassured me
that everything was going to be
okay and that you would
take care of me
no matter what happened

I remember moving in
to our father's house
the next day
after sleeping in your truck
the night before
at first things went well
we started school there
and got new clothes
but then it got worse
once alcohol entered
his body

But more than that I remember
finally breaking down
and crying our eyes out
years after this had happened to us
we did not talk
but rather said everything
that needed to be said
we talked and cried until 4am
that night until falling asleep

I remember how I felt
knowing that we made it
we were not slaves anymore
we were not victims of abuse anymore
we were not caged like animals in a house anymore
we were alive
we were free
we were warriors who had fought a vigorously insane battle
and we had won

the world is a dark place
and its getting harder to hang on
but if you do
i will
i promise

but i would have stood there
washing dishes
until my hands fell off
just to breath the same air as you

i wonder
where it is that you go
when you leave
out of mind
elsewhere
repeating
your same behaviors
i've never been a fan of
the outsourcing of details and denial
so, if you must
then please leave
darling
and stay gone
because i'm tired of
the wonder
when it's not longer mystery
it's exhausting

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it