you can lie to yourself
you can wake up in the morning
and you can smile because
you no longer feel the warmth of
his skin on your skin
you can sing aloud
in the name of independence
and you can spread your arms and your legs
to take up all the space in bed
yes, you can do these things

but your dreams will never lie
the colors of nighttime leave no
room for falsities
and try as you might
you cannot push away the boy
who you sing to when the
world is asleep
because he is the boy your heart wants

he looked down at me
and all i could think was
boy
boy do i miss you
and how can you speak like
we are strangers
how can you speak like
you don't know me
when i love you still
i love you still.

dear grandma,

i could not fit into my jeans, yesterday. the new ones with a rip in the knee and stiching on the pocket. it's been a year and my waist has grown another inch and grandma, i got scared. i got so scared i broke one of my rules and looked at the old photographs. yes, the ones i promised i wouldn't look at but grandma, listen to me. i was a wisp of a person. my frame was like a fading memory, the kind that you know won't hold on for long before it falls away. i saw a picture of myself like that. and grandma, i cried. but not because it was sad. i cried because i want to be that fading memory of a person again. hell, i cried because i was prettier, then. i cried because i am not hungry anymore. i cried because my cheeks are full and my thighs graze when i walk. grandma, i cried because i lost the only part of me that i loved.

love is not made of giving and taking in equal parts
it is not a favor for a favor
i owe you nothing

love is not a compromise reached after long deliberation
it is not hurting on Monday
and healing on Tuesday

love is not touching because you will leave if i do not
it is not feigning naivety
when you see me cry

love is not the untimely squandering of innocence
it is not the suffocating grip of guilt
it is not your unwelcome touch

love is not
love is not
love is not

To listen to love songs without the phantom touch of his fingertips. To watch the movies I love in spite of the memories, not because of them. To take long walks through the city and see places instead of moments. To forget that night we biked through the city until the sun went down.  To pass him with indifference. To kiss another boy and enjoy it. To love and be loved and to do it better this time.

forty nine minutes before midnight
my sweaty palms are stitched together
by fingertips
head tilted back, eyes shut tight
i whisper a wish
one all too familiar on my pleading lips
words are so easy
when uttered in solitude.
the minute passes.
i flick a switch and kitchen light falls away like glass.
in the darkness i notice my breaths:
they are no longer mine but the sick respiration
of a girl who has become
what she stole
from herself

dear matthew,

you taught me to love
in the fading twilight of winter
when my heart was breaking beneath
the weight of my own twisted lies
and the ugly truth behind my own
pretty face
i loved you but i hated myself
and in my incessant self-loathing
i lusted for the minute hand of a clock
more than i lusted for you

my cheek shone like shards of glass
in heavy summer air
scintillating blades that had borne the
blow of god’s fingers
one time too many
i was angry at the world
and you
were a part of this world that i despised
so much

you stayed
on the nights when i retreated
to that dark corner within myself
when i sobbed that
i was taking up too much space
and cursed a god i used to believe in
when i recoiled at your kind words
because you lied like
the scale never would
and i learned that trust could only be found
in numbers

so i hated you for loving my body
with bone white skin stretched thin
over angular bones and
cavernous cheeks and
sunken eyes too wild to be healthy
i hated you for loving my body
even as it softened
when i longed for the sharp edges
i could no longer find
and you kissed me as if to say
arcs are even more beautiful

i cried at night because i could not
make you happy
your fingertips on my skin
were ten reminders of how much i’d grown
and though i tried
i could not shake the suffocating
grip of inadequacy that clenched the softness
of my waist
when you told me to get out of my box
i tried to
but the truth was that i could never love myself
for the sake of someone else

love
what is it, anyway?
the first time i called it love
i was not sure if i meant it
but when i lost myself in
the inexplicable colors of nighttime
kissed the sharpness of your jaw
and held your heartbeat in my palms
god knows i was telling the truth

matthew, i am not sorry for my own pain
because hurt is the humanity
in human experience
but i am sorry for yours
because i could not see it
when it was there
i am not sorry for that wednesday in march
when i threw your clothes in a grocery bag and
tried to forget
but i am sorry for every moment
before then

for being a coward
for my blinding perfectionism
for not kissing you in the street
when i knew that i wanted to
for making a big deal out of
the little things
and ignoring
the big things
i am sorry that i didn’t stand up for myself
i am sorry that i didn’t stand up for you
but most of all,
i am sorry that you had to know me
when you did
when i could not give you all of my love
because i was only just learning how
to give it to myself

-- amanda