No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

And they are moved
by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
in the back of the taxi home

the words inside my mind are jumbled and i keep seeing images of us kissing and me laughing and water gun fights and afternoon naps and showering together and long hugs. and i can't stop this jigsaw puzzle of memories from taking over and infecting my lungs, my heart, and there are ten thousand people in a room and i've never been more alone in my entire life. sunday nights are akin to skinny dipping in the ocean in the middle of January when you're shaking and rattling and it seems that the cold has seeped through to the tissue that compiles your bones and then i remember one am at the lake and walking around at the beach and looking at the moonlight reflecting off of your pool eyes and god, i wanted to tell you right then that i loved you. but i didn't, and i never did, and i never have and you told me that you love me as your best friend when you broke up with me two months later, and that friendship is the most important thing and did i always want to date you? and that's a slap in the face because you wanted me so badly, you were frantic to have me and i caved too easily, letting you absorb into my bloodstream and caress my deepest thoughts. maybe i never did love you, or maybe i did, and i think still that love should be given freely even if you've known someone for two days. and you must know that i feel cheated and played because you've left me, you've gone back to her and i pray that she doesn't take you back but we all know that life isn't fair and you were never mine in the first place. but understand that i gave you everything i had and that still wasn't enough to make you stick around, and i am beginning to rethink everything i ever did for you. never in my life have i been rude to you, and i am so hurt by your carefully chosen words and they cut me and slit my throat and it isn't the best to be called pathetic by someone who called you beautiful three weeks earlier. i'm not sure where your anger towards me comes from but i will continue to say that i'm sorry until you scream at me to shut up because i am sorry, i am sorry i am sorry please come back and be mine. i don't know what I did wrong and everything hurts and you can't make me feel right but you can sure as hell make me feel worse.

i'm no good with talking-
that's something that comes out of
my mouth like gnats.
awkward, rather unpleasant.
writing, yes.
i can write a bit.
essays, no
speeches, no
stories, no.
but poetry,
i write that for you.
my poems speak my heart
because it has no voice box.
i think i've always known i'd find you,
always known that these poems floating
inside me
were for you.
i've always known i'd love you.

this is how i say thank you
this is how i let you know
that the pancakes you make taste like gold
and your eyes say that they love me
over and over.

boys come through my life
like pennies facing backwards

you are so much more
so much more
so much
more.
gosh
i have these feelings,
THESE FEELINGS
i've never felt
you put them there,
like you lay blankets over me when i'm sleeping,
how you rub your thumb
along my cheek
sweet, darling, sweet.

you build me up higher than
mountain tops
gosh
i have these feelings
and here's your poem. they're all for you.
because all this love
-that's what i'm feeling-
it's for you too.

When I was twelve,
my uncle told me that
when I got older,
I would only have enough
"best friends" to count on
one single hand,
and they would be the
best best friends I'd ever had.

And I can count my five
best friends,
but they are not
my best best.
Because they tug
and twist
and ****
and pull
on my heartstrings
in ways that could make
a grown girl cry;
and they do.

So I can tell you the names
of my best friends
that rip me to shreds
and throw my heart
onto a floor covered in
broken glass;
and you will be able
to identify the names,
because they might be your
best best friends, too.

Wanderlust
the beast to slay them all,
pushing my desire
and reinforcing my disability,
reminding me that I have
nowhere to go
and everything to see

Disorder
in my bedroom,
in my essays,
or in my brain;
all of them causing
someone (me)
to explode in a fit of
unwanted emotions.

Apathy
Towards my schoolwork and
busywork handed to me
by middle-aged "can't-do-so-teach-ers"
that need a handful of capsules
to numb the pull to leave
just as much as I do.

Dysfunction
in my brain's chemical makeup,
and my family's emotional one,
not to mention the relationships
I attempt to handle like a
one-handed juggler.

Imagination
creating scenarios in my heart
that could never come to be,
leaving me in a perpetual state of
disappointment.

So now I will tell
my nieces and nephews,
sons and daughters,
or countless grandchildren
to never trust the ones that
try to make something different
of your heart,
because they don't really love you,
they love what the can make you become.