don't kiss me in the rain
the cool drops of water
remind me of the tears i shed
when i thought you'd never return
so please, don't kiss me in the rain

don't kiss me in the sunlight
it's shimmering rays
remind me of the light you radiated
when you spoke the words
'i love you'
and i was too scared to mutter them back
so please, don't kiss me in the sunlight

don't kiss me in the shadows
the crawling darkness
reminds me of the dark hands strangling me
when i tried to keep my depression a secret
so please, don't kiss me in the shadows

don't kiss me beneath the moon
it's brilliant contrast from the dark night sky
reminds me of how small and alone we are
and how alone i'd be without you
so please, don't kiss me beneath the moon

don't kiss me under the old oak tree
there were lovers once hung here
and souls that weeped from pain
their memories perpetrating our beings
almost making me wish
i had never met you at all
so please
just don't kiss me at all

you didn’t want me

not when your fingers dug into

my hips or when they trailed 
their way up my thigh

and i don’t think 
i really wanted you, either

we wanted skin and we wanted flesh

touch without connection

we pressed our lips together

once or

twice but i think it was habit

more than anything

we were doing this

so we had to do this

touch me and i’ll touch 
you but really

i was touching him

and you were touching her

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

what they didn't tell me
was that bad boys
are not boys with scars
that have no stories.

they are not boys
with split bones,
stretched shadows,
black irises, and blacker bruises.

bad boys are the ones who
stitch together their words,
silk spider webs,
wrapping you up,
just like he did in his arms.

they are not boys who hide their faces,
and spill smoke from thin lips.

bad boys are the ones who
fill your hungry cries
with red wine and black waters,
dragging you down,
just like he did with his words.

they told me
"never fall in love with a bad boy."

but I did.

To  the scientist
the heart is an *****
necessary to carry on living

and when it breaks
the scientist fixes it
with medicine and stitches

and the scientist knows
that once the heart is fixed
you can just keep on living
the same as before


To the artist
the heart is a masterpiece
necessary to carry on loving

and when it breaks
the artist fixes it
with music and poems

but the artist knows
that even though the heart is fixed
you can never just keep on loving
the same as before

-sg

I wrote this a few months ago on a flight across the country. Not my best, but it healed me a bit

Thinking about you doesn't get any easier and even at 30,000 feet in the air the feeling you left with me somehow manages to suffocate me, through twenty different layers of clouds and pressurized cabins. The lady sitting next to me has a sad look in her eyes. Maybe she is suffering through some kind of heartbreak herself, just like me. She orders her coffee black. I want to reach out to her and hold her hand, but it's probably too cold, and she might **** away from my touch, the same way you did that day when you left. She smells like cheap perfume and the lies of lovers she has tried too hard to forget.
I wonder about jumping right out this plane right now. I wonder if I'd land with a *splat and if a nice young man would arrive with a broom and pan, sweep me up, and discard me into the nearest trash can, like they do in the carnivals. Would I regret it the moment my feet left the edge of the plane? Would I get the same feeling in my stomach on the way down as I did when we were together? I think I'd only jump if I were holding your hand.
I wrote “I miss you” in a too big sharpie across the front of my notebook on Tuesday. Colored it in blue because there’s not enough green to feel much else when you're not around. Two hours to go and my entire life is falling down around me. (Leave me be leave me be leave me be.) I want to be the space that water fills between your toes and hidden among the things that keeps your rusty heart beating. But I can't be the oil that makes your wheels keep spinning. At best I'm the hot hot steam that keeps your hands from burning and bleeding. You don't want me and you never fell in love with me. You fell in love with words I learned to recite and looks I knew when to give and this carcinogenic smile.
Apologies don't sound as true as they should and I never really say what I mean. I'm just as ****** up as you. And these are words carved into walls of abandoned asylums and painted on canvases with blood in lieu of paint and this is the only way I know how to say that I know what you're going through and what you've been through and how sorry I am that I can't be everything you expected of me.