you had a little over a decades worth of experience over me, and you always knew what to say

not in comforting way,
but in a scripted way.

all your lovers are told the same sweet things at some point or another, it's all a play.

it's funny how I used the word play,
since that's precisely what you did to me.

you took advantage of how young I was in comparison to you (how dare you) and manipulated me in ways I wouldn't even wish upon my worst enemy.

when you left me
I swore to myself
I would never love someone
the way
I loved you.

and that was true,
because I learned to love people
in healthier ways
and not become dependent on them
for my own happiness and sanity.

I thought I couldn't live without you when in fact I started living when you left me.

you were my first love, but now that I'm older
I don't think it was love, really

I was just a sad, tired-eyed 13 year old girl
who wanted what she shouldn't and couldn't have

and although I'm still sad, and still have the sleepiest irises to ever exist on the face of this earth,

I'm older and realize how being with you forever was irrational in the first place.

Nights like this it
occurs to me
that you
don't need me in the way
I need you
actually,
you don't need me at all
if I were to plummet off
the cement of an overpass
and fall off the edge
of the earth
you could still get along in your
every day life
whereas for me
I can barely handle it if
you don't text me back

And I lied to myself, saying that
I wouldn't write poems about
you anymore
but I never lied when I said that
you give me feelings
that inspire words

I can't say that you never lied
when you told me
you'd never leave me alone again or that you loved me
What I can say about you is that
I love you and every sweet little lie
you have ever written out or spoke

I also cannot say
I'm jealous of your new girlfriend
for if she only knew
all the things
you still want to do to my body
and
all the drunken truths about
someday putting a ring on my
delicate left hand
and how you love me

I can't say that it wasn't just
the alcohol putting words in
your mouth and your mind
but I can say that
I hope to some divine being above that you think
those same exact thoughts
when you're sober

I don't know much about
what the future holds for us
but I do know
I'll love you for forever
and I'll always hope
some part of you
loves me for forever, too

I spent countless hours in a field picking petals off of dead flowers (what a metaphor for our relationship)

saying with each petal squeezed tight between my fingertips
he loves me, he loves me,
he loves me.

you loved me not.

you are more toxic than carbon monoxide and I made a home out of you (I guess you were a car left on in a closed garage)

you were a death wish,
and I knew every time I went back to you it would be the same as last time

so why did I do it?

I fell in love with the musician that wrote a song about my eyes when we only knew each other for a month.

I fell in love with the warm heart and cool menthol voice that called me at noon when I was in North Carolina, and that was the first time I ever heard your voice.

I fell in love with the big arms that hugged me in the cold and rain for the first time, after talking on the phone for a month.

I fell in love with the mouth that tasted like marlboro southern cut cigarettes and the lips that were always cold.

I fell in love with the warm brown eyes that glistened in the sun even behind ray-ban sunglasses.

I fell in love with the teeth that formed the most perfect smile when I told my cheesy lame jokes and the deep, throaty laugh that followed.

I fell in love with the N_ O'__ whom my mom loved (for a brief time) and bought me roses on my birthday.


I was in love with what you were and I was hoping that it would come back.


I know now that it's not.

I hope it breaks your heart the way that you broke mine
knowing that I am
always
going to be above you.

I hope your world falls apart much like my mind did
every time
you hear my name.

talking to you
is like writing with a red pen and
expecting black ink.

no matter how many times I tell myself
it's always going to be the same and
absolutely nothing has changed,
I run back to you and hope that
you will eventually
give me the metaphorical black ink
I've waited so long for.

I'm longing for
the black ink to spill out in the form of
"I miss you too, I'm sorry for everything I've put you through and I want you to come back to me"
(and that you'll actually mean it)
and I want that ink
to stain my lungs and my mind
I want that ink
to be laced into my skin as a tattoo

but unfortunately,
you can't give me that blank ink.
it's by no fault of your own;
you're just simply a red pen
and I guess these days
I'm colorblind.

what can I say about you, dearest

I've always been a sucker for brown eyes,
but yours captivated me and drew me in

your voice when you sing the beatles
(or anything, really)
or when you call me by my name
is the sweetest sound I have ever heard

I could make a home in your arms and hold your hand forever,
and I've never slept so well next to anyone

I could talk to you for hours and I wouldn't mind spending every day from now on by your side

you're wonderful and
everything I've ever dreamed of having

and the funniest thing is,
you're mine.

I know for a fact that Constantine was a Roman emperor,
and that the sun rises in the east.
I know that I'm allergic to almost every kind of flower,
but if you were a daisy, I'd hate you the least.

I know that elephants can't jump for their lives,
and I know that lines are made out of points.
I know I can say nice things about your everything, from your hair right down to your joints.

I knew marvel as my favorite noun,
and marvel as just a comic to him,
I knew words like indefectible and indescribable,
and how you are one of its synonyms.

I know that throats get strained from shouting,
I know that ears can not stand noise,
I know a lot about sound and resonance,
just as much as I know yours is my favorite voice.

I know that pressure is force over area,
and I know that Cape Town isn't in Hawaii,
I do know a lot of little things,
but not one that could make you love me.

I never have to move very far
to find you wrapped up in
the white sheets of your king size bed
in the early hours of the morning

most of the time
I don't have to move at all;
I reach my hand out
and it's already laid across your chest,
moving vertically with every
deep sleeping breath you take.

if I happen to turn away from you
in the midst of dreaming at night,
I'll always awake to find you
draped over me
like a bear protecting its cub.

I'll open my eyes and yawn as
you stretch and sit up,
groggily mumbling with
your menthol voice about how
you're going to go make coffee
and that we should get up;
seconds later you lunge on me
and make me laugh until
I have no choice but to stay awake

because how could I ever possibly
go back to sleep knowing that
the man of my dreams is awake
on the other side of this fortress of
pillows and sheets and blankets?

I grab a cigarette for both of us and
you politely take the lighter from me,
just so I don't have to light my own.

we look out your window at
the sunrise on the lake,
and sit in comfortable silence as
the nictotine and caffeine sink
through our veins.


I roll over three times
in my own king size bed
to realize that
I'm not going to find you
twisted in the sheets beside me.

and what a lonely morning it is
to sit outside with
a cup of joe and a cigarette,
without having you
in the chair beside me anymore.

wouldn't it be nice to have that morning together one last time?