if there is one thing I have learned from loving the broken
it is to never use it as an excuse to stop loving myself
to not neglect my own damaged heart in hopes of repairing another's
it's like how on an airplane they tell you to put on your own oxygen mask first and then assist others in need
because it is impossible to save someone else while you are also suffocating
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I danced on table tops with beautiful people dripping in sweat
moving, swaying, touching with hands and feeling with mouths
I thought about you when I was pressed up against her
thought about the nights I used to spend pressed up against you
oh, how I long to have that back
you once said the word "always" in the same sentence as the word "love"
and I haven't been okay since then
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the night when you held my hand and talked to me about the constellations and I started getting a rash from the grass but I ignored it because I didn't want anything to ruin the feeling growing inside of my chest and I think you could tell but you didn't say anything either maybe it's because you felt the same way I mean you did kiss me didn't that mean something didn't I mean something how could you let that go how could you let me go I thought you were the colors of the sunset and the first breath after being under water but you aren't you are just a rainstorm on a day I forgot to bring an umbrella
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for a while now I have thought that maybe I just forgot how to write
but I think as I have gotten older
and more and more ****** up things happen
I have lost the ability to articulate my thoughts and feelings and messes into words or actual poetry
everything I write now is some form of a journal entry or list
it's a ******, really
I thought maybe I could be someone someday
that my writing could make a difference
you know?
now I just sit here alone in my dimly lit room on a friday night with a joint in my hand tapping my foot along to an old B 52's record given to me for my birthday by a wonderful boy who I used to spend countless nights writing about because it was all I knew how to do and it's hard for me to even believe that I was once capable of that because writing about anything now seems so........
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summer was my favorite yellow sweater
a poly blend of cotton, mental stability, and personal triumphs from the previous months
my summer sweater was the best I ever had
smelling of campfires and kisses and travels and euphoria
but, it had one fatal flaw
the loose thread
the loose thread that I chose to ignore until it got snagged on his car door handle the night he kissed me
the loose thread that then began to unravel the sweater
for a little while, it was still wearable
I could keep it together with the assistance of safety pins and wishful thinking
but now I sit here, naked on the hard wood floor
clinging to the big bright yellow mess that was once my favorite summer sweater
wishing I could go back to the beginning and just tie that ******* loose thread a little tighter
so that I would never have to let go of my favorite summer sweater
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the wolves howl at the same time every night
echoing through the valley like an empty stomach in a quiet room
they remind me of you
(for obvious reasons)
I'm not ready to admit (out loud) that I feel something when I see your name
and that my heart skips a beat when you touch me
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he said he didn't know why he kissed me that night
(a familiar line for me)
he tells me he loves me and wants to protect me
picks me up from parties when I am too drunk to move
makes silly sounds on his keyboard to stop my crying
plays board games with me until two in the morning when I can't sleep
he is a light at the end of the hallway that I am getting closer and closer to reaching
but he said he didn't know why he kissed me
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