I don't believe I want you,
But my subconcious begs to differ.
My body seems to yearn for you,
When i've ingested too much liquor.

I deny it when I'm sober, and say it was the drink,
But this mindset is recurring,
And it's starting to make me think.

Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're *'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.

i think i have finally found myself, in between the cushions of
crumble filled and beer stained backseats of his car. through the spaces
of his fingers, all i taste is *** and lingering
regrets.
i think i can finally disappear, among nights that never end,
with tongues that never parch.
a little touching never hurt nobody, and i think my veins
are nothing but fire tonight.
i had lost myself in his red car with a stupid license plate,
and eyes that held me, shut me, locked me up.
i had lost myself in this idea that you can’t be alone too long,
for your own fingers can only do so
much.
i have found myself, while stumbling and purging through
crisp nights, touching car doors, fur, strangers hands.
i have found myself amid his arms, but i’m still looking for the other
pieces,
i think they might be inside you, you,
you. let me take a look, darling, we have nowhere to be
tonight.

I wonder about the boy on the park bench
He sit's on the left- I on the right,
We sit in silence waiting for our rides to arrive.
I worry that he won't be there one morning
I've developed an attachment to him.
I've noticed his scrapes and scars
and I think he's noticed mine.
It was Sunday morning,
we sat together,
no buses to take or
time to keep
But closer than usual
Our breath clouds the freezing air around us
We sip alcohol from our coffee mugs
Our lips locked, bodies steamed.
I think I am in love with
The boy on the park bench.