I like to think that my body
has forgotten you.
and how your hands fit
perfectly in the curve of my waist,
how you kissed my neck,
and right between my shoulder blades,
how you used to pick me up
and I'd wrap my legs around you,
how you whispered "i love you"
and my name sounded sacred on your tongue.
How you squeezed my hand rhythmically,
and I would make a game of copying it back.
How you showed me, in every way,
that I was your definition of perfect.
How you sang that I was the only girl
who keeps your planet green.
but it hasn't.
My body, my waist, my neck.
My heart, my mind, my soul.
I haven't forgotten
how it felt,
when you loved me.

God your name
feels so foreign to write
those five letters once
told me what I thought my future would be.

I speak it as infrequently as possible,
nearly whispering it when I must.
As if, somehow, if I speak it too loudly,
I'll lose myself in it all over again.

The soap in my shower smells like you,
so I bought my own.
I was left wondering what you were doing,
at 4:36pm on a Sunday afternoon.

You favorite color appears
in the strangest places, unexpected.
I know it should go unnoticed,
why did you have to love such a bright color?

my body almost forgets what it feels like
to be loved by you
my lips almost forget the taste of you
and then it all rushes back

i don't shatter anymore.
when i miss you,
i ache.

I am a writer, a poet.
thought sometimes,
the right words,
are as abundant as clouds
on a perfect summer day

no matter how I deny it
there are some days
that I just need you
your arms, your face, your lips
to tell me that I'm strong
and that you believe in me

i speak in
hyperboles and metaphors
i guess that's why
it's so easy to break my heart
the way i care is too
figuratively literal

some days
my exhaustion ruins deeper
than the very middle of my bones
and it's difficult
to remember how
to sing myself
to sleep