I just needed someone to talk to
A shoulder to cry on
An open ear to hear my worries or
Just talk about life in general.

Surrounded by family, friends, social media
You would think that would be easy to find.
I guess it was - I found you
(or you found me, when I was searching).

I said the right thing at the right time;
or it meant something important to you;
or you said the right thing
about what it meant to me -
whatever the case may be -
We met.  We talked.  We opened our deepest archives.
I told you things I never revealed to anyone.
I guess I felt my secrets were safe with you;
I guess I trusted you.

You seemed to understand me.
You treasured the new perspectives I shared with you.
You wanted what I could give you -
that you never had before.
You needed something to hold onto:
Hope; security; belonging.

I had nothing to hide from you,
I just wanted to talk.
You were a blank canvas that I could paint all of my life's experiences on.
A fresh paint - The pictures were clearer to you.
You were amazed, astounded by my originality, genuineness.
You said you could fall in love with me.
I told you not to - we couldn't help it though.

You loved me selfishly - you needed me almost every minute of every day.
You asked things of me that others had asked for & been denied.
But for some reason, I wanted to give those things to you.
Where once I disguised my heart, or kept it tightly locked up & hidden,
You made me strip off every layer that hid it,
I stripped my heart "Naked" for you - unprotected, vulnerable, defenseless.

You were badly wounded & beaten
by so many who "hated" you from your past.
I wanted to heal your wounds.
I am a caretaker,
A nurturer, a healer.
You trusted me.
Gradually, the pain of your past lessened:
The joy of your possible future = the salve.

As I, you needed a shoulder - I gave you both.
I carried you - you became heavy.
As long as I had the strength or the means or the will
You were happy, content, cooperative.

Really what did I ask of you? Just one simple request.
You could not agree.
I don't fault you for that -
We all have free will.
But I LITERALLY gave you EVERYTHING!!!
Interest-free...

Music? Should I be inspired
By what moves someone else's heart?
I don't know them,
I thought I knew you.
I was wrong.

I said it wouldn't happen,
I wouldn't let it happen;
I warned you that it could:
But I resented that you expected what I gave you!
Only after I told you that I had to draw the line
Did you say you should never have asked.
But you did? You never refused.
I always said yes...

...Until today.
Our last goodbye.
The pain faded fast,
Quickly followed by the realization
That you used me!!
You got All you needed from me.

And you may think I received nothing from you,
But you gave me lots:
Another wound to heal,
Another lesson learned,
Another failed attempt to save someone who is already dead.
Another mistake,
Another story to tell,
Another poem to write,
Another mystery for me to unravel -
about why I always let this happen to me,
why I always give so much to get so little.
What does it really do for me?

I LOVED THE IDEA OF BEING YOUR "EVERYTHING" - I LOVED THAT YOU NEEDED ME - I LOVED THAT YOU WANTED & DESIRED ME - I LOVED THAT I WAS THE ONLY GOOD THING IN YOUR LIFE - I LOVED BEING ABLE TO SHARE MY KNOWLEDGE WITH YOU - I LOVED HOW MUCH YOU ENVIED ME - I LOVED CRYING WHEN YOU HURT ME (BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT IT MEANT MY LOVE WAS REAL) .......

*I loved being strong enough to walk away for the last time........

just let me be
the clouds and
i might rain on
whoever I
please

When I tell you that I miss you, you should know that I'm lying. I don't miss you, I miss the shivers I used to get every time you touched me I miss the way you used to hold my hand and play with my hair but I don't miss you. I miss your drunken calls at 3 AM in the morning telling me that you've had it with the life and me I miss how I drove you out of you mind and back to your senses every time I'd gaze into your eyes. I miss how you would drop everything every time I asked you to come over I miss how you made your whole world revolve around me but I don't miss you. I miss the late nights of ***** and cigarettes by the beach and how we used lay there just like little children so innocently till the sun rises. I miss the feeling you used to give me I miss how you made my heart beat out of my chest I miss every single little detail of what we had but hell, I don't miss you.

And its the disappointment in their faces that gives the hardest blow.

That makes me want to run.

Because in this state I am no longer useful to them.

I am a burden

They've already got their perfect child, and I am not it.

My dreams are far to big for my limited options

My mistakes are too expensive.

And all I can do is sit and wait for the lecture to be over.

and so my life rushes by.

no more razor scooter afternoons,

Barbie jeep and a kickball marathon,

walking home from school in spring, swinging a Powerpuff Girls backpack.

jumping on hot black trampolines, burning our small feet,

running to the park to see if we were able to hold on to monkey bars.

no more alligator tag evenings, falling down in wood chips but brushing it off-

I have always been a tough cookie.

and I become an adult soon enough, a victim of my own past and a

culprit of my future, but nothing in between.

Honda Civic and a movie marathon,

liquored-up nights,

high as the midnight sky, staring up at stars as far as the atlantic.

If a writer tells you it's not you it's him
don't argue and believe him
you see the thing about writers is that
just like the waves of the sea they're never stable they crash into themselves trying to keep what's left of their sanity you'll think that they have this perfect life because they write so perfectly but you're wrong because most writers don't believe in perfection they believe in the power of absolute madness and other writers don't even know what to believe in and when they fall they don't simply fall in love they lose control and fall recklessly like there's no tomorrow they can make you the happiest person alive they will revolve their existence around you they will feed on your love and breathe you in they'll want you and all of you to them only because they'll become somehow selfish when it comes to you and you should never forget that you're the source of their happiness and without you they will never be whole they'll write russian novels about you and fifty pages of describing the beauty of your soul they'll make you the most beautiful thing they'll make you heaven walking on earth with their words and poems they'll make you alive but if you ever hurt them you'll be done gone forever you won't exist anymore even if you screamed for your existence right in front of their eyes they'll scratch you from the poems and all the love letters and you will become a nothing but a hovering memory of a ghost and even if you beg and plead on your knees they will never be the same because when writers have broken hearts they end up with broken souls that will never stop writing about the pain and agony you caused so when a writer tells you it's not you it's him just pick up your stuff and leave.