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.

The goldish ring color is fading,
The polaroids are old and dusty,
My heart is cold even though it's pacing.
Tell me darling, in my sleep,
*Is our love gone with the ring?

I wish I knew...
Was it your choice
Or did faith draw the line?
Were the stars not aligned
when you left,
leaving me aside?
Do you have conscience
of your selfish acts?
I'd rather think so
Yet we were just kids
Living on the edge of innocence.

You were my GPS.

Funny when you tell me
The thing you need is an anchor.
Because the last few days
Have taught me so much.
All I wanted when we first met
was to know that we would leave together.
But from the start I could feel it,
I felt like I was going to be suffocated.
The last several weeks,
I have laughed more, I have done more…
And I finally feel free.
And by being free I can see now:
Constantly trying to fix us
Is the thing that has been killing me slowly.
And I don’t want to do it anymore,
I don’t want to fix it or fix us anymore.
Maybe instead of loving you so hard
I should be myself for a while.
I should love me.
And you should love you.
I want so much for you.
For both of us.
So much more than this.
More than being stuck
With someone who feels stuck.
I want you to feel free too.
But no matter how hard we try,
We have to realize some things
Just can’t be fixed.

I wonder
what you meant
when you told me,
over the fifth cup of black coffee,
that you had fallen out of love
more than the number of times
you’d kissed someone,
your hands were not under-oxygenated
but, cold
because each hand you held before,
took away your share
of warmth too
and people
were just bricks
that you kept stacking
to build a wall around
your heart;
while, I
held your sweaty palms
and heard your heart
beat against your ribcage
like a storm.