She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.

You walk away so
easily
makes me wonder why
you don’t just keep on
walking

Vulnerable ain't weak
Hurting ain't broken
Pausing isn't giving up
Tired isn’t beaten

1) a bookstore in May,

2) your apartment in Maine

3) an airport in spring

4) random chinese food place

5) my apartment (2nd floor)

To the left
and to the right
both parties listen up
With out you
both cooperating
I couldn't accomplish much
So to think
we could run a country
without working together
SEEMS DUMB

you walk away clean,
the victim,
like you didn't absolutely
wreck me,
like you didn't leave me
with a ptsd diagnosis
and mountains of
therapy bills.

you get to pretty
up your tinder profile
like an easy-going
guy with a dog and a plate
of food and who
would ever look at you
and think
my,
what an abusive guy.

while i am still here
wondering why
i can't let go,
why am i always
too hurt to live and
too scared to die.