To whoever takes the time to read this:

This is not a poem. I like poems about you though. They usually end with us making fabulous love in the back of that old car. Today it is a letter. A letter on how I never meant to fall in love with you. You even told me at the beginning to not love your broken heart, but I couldn't help myself. I saw the beauty in it. It was a slow love, I promise not all at once. It started with a late night under stars, and ended with me drunk begging you to feel the same way. I just miss you. Maybe that is why I wrote this letter. I was thinking if you read it you would know it was about you. Poems don't identify the subject. You are always my subject. And maybe this letter would bring you back to the return address. You would fall in love me the way I love you now. But then again, this will never be sent to you. You will never know the person at the return address. I am sorry I fell in love with your broken heart, because now our hearts look the same.

I will love you always...

There was no way I fell
in love. I couldn't have been
happy. I wasn't
smiling. The truth had to be a
lie. I knew it because
it was impossible
to have this much fun

      s.   o.   b.   e.   r.  

The truth is, I'm not the original
owner of your heart. I'm living on
borrowed time. Tick,
     tock, the mouse
            ran up
                the clock.
But the clock struck one, and our love was done.
They say only fools fall in love, so darling,
they must be talking about us because
we didn't fall in love,
        we drown in it.

I am what I am and I cannot be changed. I am my mother’s wish and my father’s mistake. I am what sent him away and coming back for more. Every boy, guy, man always walks out of my life, but still leaves the light on. I am his punching bag. I am his trophy. I am his rock. I am his. And I am yours. I am a puppet under loves direction. I will care for you like no other. I will worry if a meteor hit you and not anyone else. I will trust you time and time again. I am one to fall in love with you in 8 seconds, but take 8 months to get over you. I like fun trips places, but I also like to lay around and watch movies. I am supportive of big life decisions. I am too emotional about the little stuff. But it matters to me. I won’t give you space because we are together now. I want to spend every moment with you because those are my happiest. I will make assumptions and get my hopes up. I will not be good at distance because I hate being alone. I will always tell you how I feel. I will forgive you when you don’t deserve it. I will give 8 second chances when I didn’t get one. I will love you when you don’t love me anymore. I am what I am and how I love you won’t change. I was molded this way. Can you accept who I am?

You don’t need a gun
to be shot.
I know this
       because the morning after
you left, I found a bullet hole in my chest,
that sadness from that Sunday overflowed to
    massive amounts of
pain in Monday’s mayhem.
The next thing I knew,
I had blood trickling from the
stab wounds in my back.
My weakness on Wednesday echoed the
      innocence of my thoughts;
you don’t need a knife to be
   stabbed.
The flashbacks on Friday were bearable
until my skin started to peal from the burn
during the sunset on Saturday night.
The warmth reminded me of the butterflies that used to flood my stomach when you smiled.
But they’re gone now
just like the warmth of your touch on my skin that’s
now just a bare surface.
I guess you don’t need fire to burn either.
The bullet hole will close, the stab
wounds will heal, the skin
will grow back.
The morning after
I saw you with her
I learned the biggest lesson of my life;
You don’t need water to
                                             drown.

You told me you were made of glass,
and that your heart was far to thin.
But I did not believe you,
until I felt you cut my skin.

Now the scars on my heart
run to deep to forget.
I still have the old roses
from the first time that we met.

And I don't know why I told you
that I’m good at letting go.
Because as I look at these dead flowers,
I pray for them to grow.

I'm a prisoner of my own words
trapped inside
thoughts of endless meaning
hidden behind clichés of familiarity.
Another torn memory;
a mistake I can't take back.
Echoes of words said
stuck inside the cell of no return.
I'm living on borrowed time
and, my darling, there's no cure for the endless word rhymes.
The beginning is the end
the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Never ending
circle of circles.
I'm an inmate of my own mind
haunted by regret and broken dreams
there's no escaping
     no where to hide
I'm a prisoner of what's on
the inside.