we both knew
that this was going to hurt
sooner or later
so stop crying
this love is a wound
that we kept on pretending,
kept lying to ourselves
was a battle scar
for a war
we've never even fought

I'll pack my bags
and stitch my wounds
so please, at least
have the decency
to tell me you didn't
really love me

at least, give me
a reason to sleep
after I've cried
rivers out of my eyes

lie for me
one last time
for old times sake
pretty please?

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"

right now there are eleven empty containers of alcohol in my bedroom,
but it's fine, i'm fine.
i've been telling myself for more than a year
that i wasn't going to write anymore sad ****** poems about you,
but here we are.
most days i'm sure i don't miss you,
but then i listen to the wrong song,
and before i know it -
i'm screaming along to band of horses in the dark,
stalking your twitter favorites,
and somehow,
i've managed to get snot on my forehead.
yeah, nostalgia is an *******
but not all the memories sting.
there was that one time we went to the movies
and i slipped on some ice and fell flat on my ***.
i just sat there while you took a picture.
but i'm glad we could laugh about it.
i'm glad we were comfortable.
in my head, we still are.
in my head, we're oversized-goodwill-sweater comfortable.
we aren't as comfortable in real life
but i'm glad we still laugh.
this is the part where i don't bring up the time you told me
my laughter could cure your sadness,
because i'm pretty sure i already put that in another poem,
and it makes me really ******* sad.
did i ever tell you i used to play guitar and piano?
i loved them, but i never tried very hard.
i wanted to be good without having to practice.
i wanted to be good without having to practice.
i wanna meet the girl you write about
so i can ask her how she manages not to love you back.
because i've tried everything & i am so tired.
i forgot this wasn't supposed to be a sad poem.
i'm not good at happy anyway,
i never have been.
but in your absence i've learned a lot about softness.
so if i ever find myself back in your passenger seat,
i won't correct you when you sing the wrong lyrics,
i won't ask why when you take the long way home.
i won't ask you why you don't have your seatbelt on,
i'll just say a silent prayer
and watch for signs that you might be about to swerve.
right now there are eleven empty containers of alcohol in my bedroom,
and i didn't find you at the bottom of a single one.

- m.f.

I loved you more than you deserved. I spent far too many nights crying myself to sleep for it to be the right kind of love and you spent far too many nights questioning whether or not you loved me for it to be real. I don’t know much but I know love shouldn’t be worried that each time you walk out my door it’s the last or being too afraid to let go of your hand. I wanted more than anything in the world for it to be you but there are only so many times that I can fall asleep crying over you

The first time i touched a girl i didn't know it was supposed to be light and tasteless. it was an earthquake, light just because i was so close to the earth. i remember my own tongue tasted like sea and blue.

The first time i touched a girl we were both 8. she laughed because i was trembling too much. my hands were cold like chilled tea, but she didn't know beneath her thick clothes that it was actually a thing.

The first time i touched a girl it was a girl with naturally red cheeks. my mother used to call her tomato cheeks, and i'd tell my mother how healthy her skin was. as healthy as her healthy hair, dark brown, long and smooth and straight.

It felt different when i couldn't touch a girl. not that i wanted to touch her, but we were 13, and she had a boyfriend, and i wanted a boyfriend too. but her smile was my cure and i kept searching for her teeth in the night sky.

When i was 15 i met a girl and we became good friends. when i touched her it was friendly but i wanted it to grow even more and more intense. i hadn't realized until i saw her bare back, i wanted her, i wanted her so bad i should stop.

But i didn't really stop. i do not stop, i am unable to stop. 11 years from when i first touched a girl i still long for tenderness and soft skin.

a poem a day while my heart is away*
i'll be drinking again tonight
drowning in liquor that makes stars look blue
i'll be drunk again tonight
because i won't be with you

whenever i hear your voice
or that name of yours
my insides cramp,
and i find myself lighting another menthol cigarette,
once again realizing that it’s much sweeter than you ever were