i put the things
you gave me
at the top
of my closet

so i don't have to look
so i don't have to think

i don't love you anymore

(i'm sorry i broke it)

i miss
         the smell of your hair
         the texture of your skin
         your arms around my waist
         the music you would play
         the comfort of your bed
         your hand on my thigh
         the safety in your eyes
         the cupcakes on my porch
         your slightly curved spine
         the way you shout my name
         the way you text me where i am
         your fingers around my neck
         the bruises on my ribs
         the pain in my shoulders
         your fists against my skin

You're back.

But I'm not really here anymore.

I torture myself in many ways.
Be it these cigarettes,
that bottle,
those songs,
or your letters.

When the sun goes down
my little sister asks
"Can I see the moon?"
So I hold her hand and take her outside
and sometimes we don't see it
but on nights like tonight
it shines brighter than it should.
Brighter than it has any reason to.
Yet Audrey thinks it's pretty
and I guess that's reason enough.

I remember the night,
when Guardian Angel, My Best friend, The Girl Who Fancies Scared Faces and myself drove up to a moonlit
little place called Sugarloaf Mountain.
And at the top
we drank cheap wine,
smoked cheaper cigarettes
(Hey man, they're all we got)
and each took turns playing a song.
My Guardian Angel started with Neutral Milk Hotel,
then My Best Friend played The White Stripes,
then The Girl Who Fancies Scared Faces played Atmosphere,
and finally I used my turn on Clapton.

We drank more beer
and smoked the last cigarette,
and laughed,
and laughed,
and marveled at how beautiful the moon was and how it doesn't need a reason to shine.
I ended up in My Guardian Angel's bed, after some more cigarettes and beer and ****.
We shared kisses and cuddles and laughs and sweat.

Our Love is above
what is commonly said
you call me dishonest
for other men have fled.

You're amazing and cute,
and the truth I say,
You are a beautiful diamond
That the arrogant threw away.

Their choices will haunt
yet their lies aren't true.
Not a single soul
though men were few.

You've a broken heart
and the past won't last.
Remember my love,
I can be your cast.

i was hoping that if you kissed me enough
in places where i thought i was dead

flowers would grow

but i am not a garden
and my dear,
you are far from a dose of fresh water and sunlight

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

And
                       You were just
                Like the                 Moon,
           So lonely, so
   Full of imper-
Fections but
   Just like the
         Moon , you                    Shined  
                 In times of ,          Dar-
                               kness.