It’s funny how a memory works
I was thinking today about how I usually don’t remember exact days
For example, Christmas
I remember getting excited and I remember waking up
and looking under the tree for the outline of that typewriter
I begged my parents for
but I can’t remember what day of the week it was,
not even from this year
I think to the night we spent together though;
and I know that it was a Saturday
I was supposed to be at my friend’s house
but she cancelled on me
I would learn later that fate works in mysterious ways
even though I was mad at her at first
You texted me and asked me to get coffee
It was four in the morning
We talked until eight about nothing
but we also talked about everything
I guess it was Sunday since it was the morning
I guess I could say I spent the whole weekend with you
but I know that it was only four hours;
still the most prominent four hours of my seventeen years
I remember being in the coffee shop,
and the song “Edge of Seventeen” came on
I thought it was a weird coincidence because
I was on the edge of seventeen and you were on the edge of twenty
and we were both on the edge of falling in love
We talked about dreams, and I told you that I don’t like to sleep
because I have nightmares and I forget what reality is when I wake up
You stared into my eyes and I felt a tug in my chest
Your eyes whispered to mine that they understood
I don’t think we were even speaking in English
we were speaking in smiles and nervous twitchy body language
I told you that I found you intimidating
you laughed and told me you were sorry
I told you not to apologize, I just thought you were so cool
“you’re cool too” you said with a smile
I just laughed and looked at my coffee mug
I get nervous with compliments
We went out for a cigarette and I had trouble lighting mine
because I was so enticed by the way the smoke floated
so effortlessly out of your mouth
I remember thinking that if I was the smoke in your lungs
I wouldn’t fight to come out, I’d stay warm beside your heart
I told you that I needed to get home
before my parents noticed I was gone
You walked me home and the whole time I was praying to a God
that I don’t believe in that you would kiss me goodnight
But you didn’t
We didn’t talk again after that night and
I know now not to fall in love with the
twenty year old little boy
who still wants to grow up and be a poet
and who stares at you while he sings

I stopped seeing my therapist
after she pulled me out of my numbness.
I stopped going to therapy because
she understood what I was going through
and I was so used to nobody caring to ask.
I stopped because she didn't care to ask,
she asked because my parents paid her to.
I stopped getting help because the helper
had the same name as my dead friend.
The universe is really in collaboration with hell to see my fall.

Numb
n
   u
       m
               b    n   e   s   s  is a destroyer
and a healer of sorts
but it's as temporary as a scraped knee.

If somebody is getting paid to ask you
how you are feeling then I suggest
you run out of there like a bat out of hell.
I'd ask you for free.

The girl with the tree branch tattoo
cherry blossoms dancing on her wrist
to hide the scars of her teenage years
when she was too sad to exist
The girl with the gray-blue eyes
reminded me of rainfall when she cried
but it was rare that she did,
she kept her feelings inside
The girl who stares at the stars
she makes up stories about their lives
as if they are people like her
as if they too struggle to get by
The girl in your dream
and the girl in your nightmare
she’ll write poems about herself in third person
and she’ll **** herself for a dare

A battered heart never beats in tune
A broken vase is never perfectly glued

You break a beer bottle on the ground because
you're mad that the girl won't sleep with you
and you sweep the glass under the rug...
but that doesn't mean it never happened

One day you'll be older and you'll be smarter
and you'll have less of an ego and be more of a martyr
and you'll learn that no means no
and broken means don't try to fix

If you take a leap and love a broken thing
love it for being broken
because the shattered just has more pieces to offer
more pieces to cherish
and more pieces to look at and say hey
"You're not perfect, but you're lovely anyway"

Maybe I'm amazed by the way you said my name
like it was the sweetest sound you had ever heard
and you took eternal pleasure in the way
it rolled off your tongue.

Maybe I'm amazed by the way your lips, so red from
the way my lipstick stained them, never strayed
far from me- whether they were whispering in my ear
or kissing my scars.

Maybe I'm amazed by the way your fingers caressed the piano keys
as softly as they caressed my skin
or the way I can still feel them on me even though
I haven't felt you in longer than I can remember.

Maybe I'm amazed by the way you left,
by how sudden and unexpected it was.
By how you told me you never would, but
never looked back- not even once.

Maybe I'm not so amazed, maybe I'm just
really hurt because you were amazing in
all senses of the word and I'm just a girl
wishing I was a bird so I could fly
to where you are and feel your lips
on mine one last time.

You never were a fan of my laugh;
you thought it was too loud, too proud- too juvenile
and you never did like my voice
you thought it was too raspy and you knew
that it was from smoking too many cigarettes

I was a fan of your smile
and how it seemingly never shrunk or faltered,
it was always plastered on
and not even as if you were forcing it
I think you were just always genuinely happy with the world
and life in general

You hated the freckles on my arms
and laughed at my mom when she called them beauty marks
I always wondered why you even stayed as long as you did

I always wondered how it was possible for me
to love someone who so obviously didn't feel the same
who so badly wanted me out of their life
and I guess now you have what you wanted
because I'm gone

It's kind of scary how even my ghost still writes poems about you