we get it, poets. things are like other things.
this is a familiar concept to us all so why do we speak in metaphor all the time?

it is because when we tell you we feel like our insides are on fire,
we feel as though we are a house that is burning down until all that remains is a fragile frame accompanied by a pile of ash,
it is not a metaphor

it's a simile, notice my use of like or as

but it is not a metaphor

when you stick a cigarette between your teeth you do not fail to light it
the thing that does the killing will **** you
and you will let it

when you write down the exact amount of pills you took and the number of days you felt worthless tallied into your stretch marks
there is no metaphor there

my poetry isn't metaphor
it is a direct reflection of honest to god feelings
I have never written a poem not meant literally

we get it, poets. things are like other things.
but that is a simile.
things are not other things.
we do not speak in metaphor.

you tell me about her and
how she broke your heart and
how you're so empty now that she's gone.

all i do is say how sorry i am
that life messes up the best of us
and tell you to keep hanging on.

but what else can i say
when all i want to do is run to you
and tell you how much i love you?

what else can i say
when inside i bleed for you
and what we can never have?

what else can i say
when you tell me you can't picture
life with anyone else?

what else can i say
but tell you i'm so sorry
and mean it with all my heart.

what else can i say?

she's tearing you apart and
you're tearing me apart and
i know i'm tearing him apart too.

sometimes i sit and wonder why
love is so
cruelly blind.

Is it love?
When you start writing her name with a razor instead of a pen,
is it still love?