i dont understand why i let you confess
all the things i’d inevitably contest
i cannot explain why i can feel so stressed
my emotions are so still, ungrown, repressed

you only let me hurt myself
these wounds secure your place in hell

you can only show the things you loathe, detest
shrink me down to what you understand, success
my explosive temper is a second guess
under my control, suggestion, hate, detest

I think daffodils will always make me think of you
And how you could brighten up a mood, the way the yellow blossom reminds us that spring is coming.
I look at the step where you sat, where you turned to me for comfort.
Isn’t it silly that I want to turn to you now, I want your comfort, as if I’m the one who died?

Before you love me,
I need you to know that I am the cracked knuckles you got from punching a wall after your mother told you she was leaving for good.

I am the old mascara marks on your pillowcase you've yet to wash off, the window in your bedroom that won't open all the way and squeaks like hell during the night.

Before you love me,
You need to see me on the nights when I can't breathe correctly because my mind can't stop counting all the people I've lost.

You need to see me lock the door 17 times and make sure all the faucets aren't dripping at all because I'm afraid of drowning.

You need to hear my voice crack when I shout, raw and insecure. And know that I'm not violent but my words sting more than the 14 shots you took the night your ex broke your heart.

But before you love me,
I also want you to know that I love to pick flowers when I'm at stop lights and I'll give them to you but I always forget a vase.

I'll sing about how our eyes match and how you kick me in your sleep but I don't mind.

On days when you can't stand to live anymore I will vacuum up all your tears from the ground and we'll go to the roof and scream until our lungs collapse.

In the morning I will kiss the nectar from your cheeks and trace the letters of your name on your skin so you remember to always think of yourself first.

I'll probably dream of silly things and we'll laugh about them and I'll make you tea with extra honey because I know you love it.

And even though I know you hate it, I'll always smile because of your dimples and count the freckles on your back and give you a new reason to love you every day.

Most of all, before you even think about loving me, I need you to love yourself.

i wrote this to tell you all the things you'll never get to know about me

you will never get to know what i taste like with all 90 days under my belt

you'll never get to know how i handle the anniversary of my mother's death
or what watching my father die does to me

you'll never get to see me bailing my little brother out of jail
or find out about how i don't smile the same way anymore after serving two years inside

you'll never see me on my wedding day
and you will never hear me tell you "i do" or that i love you

or hear me announce that my wife is pregnant
and you'll certainly never get to meet my baby girl and she'll have eyes just like her mama

you will never hear me come home from work when we're in our late thirties and i always have a good reason to bring flowers

you won't ever find out what my favorite song is when i'm mowing the lawn out back
and you won't be there when i decide to press charges on the man that hurt me


my point is
you're gone.
and honestly, you might not care. you might not ever even think of me again.
but you will never get to know me.
and for that i am thankful

yesterday my PO showed up at my front door and my dad let her in
she ******* at me for skipping two months worth of tests
and for telling my best friend I'd get clean if she'd lie and say she loved me back

the next time i go to court i'm facing 5 to 7
with guidelines like that
the chances of me ever getting to meet my daughter are slim if
not nothing

my ex and i haven't spoken in weeks but i know she's getting high again
and i know she's still pretending like we were in love once

tell me about the first time you ever did blow
******
the first time you took whiskey in shots in a hotel room before swallowing xanax like tic tacs

TELL ME ABOUT THE FIRST BABY YOU LOST
tell me about the way you were going to get married in a week and you were hire someone vegan to cater even though i ******* hate the way tofu feels

tell me about the second baby you lost
tell me about how you named both of them after my daughter even though you never got to see their eyes

tell me about the boy you cheated on me with
the girl you let choke back ***** in my living room

tell me about how you kept coming to see me the last time i was locked up until suddenly it wasn't worth it anymore

i taste like sunshine with dirt in my veins and i know because you've written a hundred poems telling me so

less than i should,
i keep these foamy
fog-soaked memories
on hold-
pleading with the gods
"no yelling, not tonight"
and the rain relents

i feel a little safer
with just a few clouds
the stability is warm
unlike my hands,
and the majority of my heart
but i'm still here-
right?

or am i just pretending,
sometimes i do bleed
just to check if i am still alive.
sometimes i don't want to breathe-
that's okay too;
i'm on my journey
i'll find my way

what does 47 days without ****** in your veins taste like?

like trying to explain to every **** person that you meet that you're not sick anymore
it just takes time to put the weight back on

like my girlfriend moved out and left half of her things behind
and that was ten ******* months ago
and sometimes when we **** in her backseat
i recognize my t-shirt on her floor
and so i'm still wondering if that means "i miss you"

like i think i'm way too over-medicated but everybody keeps saying "fixed" like i'm okay and i know i'm not

because my girlfriend left ten ******* months ago and i still have her t-shirts in my closet


and i bet you think that means i miss you, I don't.