I haven't written a poem about you
Not even allowed myself to think the words
For fear of retribution
I have kept you a secret
But I am tired
And I have been beaten down
Into a raw, ****** pulp inside
Over something that should mean nothing
To anyone else
So forgive me for believing
That people's opinions don't really matter
And I'll forgive her
For not being able to get over herself
(Because, darling, she's always had that problem)

dramatic and apathetic
you are so intent
on becoming something big
you've lost yourself

you are a heavy trinket
on a gold chain
deciding my fate
with the steady swing
of your insecurity
right, left,
here, gone
never quite feeling
but coming close enough
to fool me into thinking
that you're intentions are as gold
as your metaphorical heart
you are a pendulum;
just as unreliable.

how can i make time for friends
when my mom barely gets off the couch
and my sister is crying on the floor
cracking into a million colorful pieces
or time for school
when i have my father's absence to puzzle over
or the complex question
of my very existence
boys? no way
with the memories of my parents screaming
and my father's drunken stumbling
up the stairs, to her room
and more screaming, screaming,
filling my ears
even years later
how can i know how to make something that stays
when the memories of slipping on my boots
in the middle of the night
and creeping out the door
of days spent trying not to rattle the cage
loud enough to wake the monster
how can i stay
when every
single
person
has shown me that it's better to run away?
why would i want anyone
to ever have to deal with me
when i can't even deal with myself
how can i create something that will withstand
the turbulent storms of emotions
that i face every day
when my life has been anything but stable?

as I look out the window on a spring day
which looks a lot like winter
I numbly sip my tea
and think of you and your apologies
but you're apologizing for the wrong things
that is why I smile graciously
as you whisper those words against my skin
although I am still dying
for I will never mean anything to you
I will never be more to you
or anybody
I guess that's why I let them all use me
and I'm so used to it
that the pain of this knowledge
is only a dull throb
as I allow you to trace the contours of my body
and lie to me with your clever half truths
this sharp stinging pain only comes after
when I realize
that I mean even less than I imagined

It's gotten to the point
That it doesn't build up
And explode
I am so worn through
With emotion
That I cave into myself
And my own catastrophe
Comes raining down
Drowning me

maybe if I scrub my mouth hard enough
I will get the taste of your tongue
out of my mouth
and the taste of our whispered words
off of my lips
but it won't matter
because your touch will still be ironed
into my bones
and your words branded white hot
into my skull
teasing me

perfect harmony
of days blending together
monday, tuesday, wednesday
early morning tea,
mouth guard smiles,
half-attempts at socializing
thursday, friday,
miles ran, miles to go
before i rest
saturday, sunday
my lips, your neck,
pretending we don't have to go back

there will always be another monday
another sunday and wednesday,
but they will never hold so much nostalgia.

No matter how hard I try
I cannot remember
What it was like to feel those things
For you, for everyone.
It has been too long.
They lied
Time seals all outflow of emotion
And makes it impossible to go back.

When I'm really tired
Sometimes I see shadows
And they laugh and dance
In front of my faded eyes.

At first I didn't know
Whether they were good or bad
But as they whispered sweetly,
I realized that not all darkness
Makes you hollow.

We used to be close
Close enough to kiss
Now we are so far apart that
Were there continents between us,
I would not feel any difference.

you told me you're a liar
or rather, you're good at lying
but you also told me that you're transparent,
an open book, so straight forward.
logically, one of those statements is a lie
but you can lie with your words
and you can lie about your feelings
but you can't lie about your brown eyes
or your smile that reaches me at my lowest
you can't lie about those; they just are
so what are you lying about?
i'm dying to know

icy scraping,
steep inclines,
when you're going so fast
and you know
that if you lose control
the consequences will be dire
and possibly (hopefully?) fatal
that is when i push the hardest
since the damage is already done
to a time that lasts
less than your favorite song
and those moments of
weightlessness
i owe my life.

The loneliness turns my insides to stone
Makes it hard for me to choke down
Everyone and their consoling words.
I'd much rather sit and drink my tea
From lonely cups and write somber poetry
Than pretend that a night with my friends
Will erase the melancholy that stains my life.
Because I could have every star in the night sky,
And I would still be lonely.

i don't know
whether to be happy or sad
to know that you don't check up on me
like you used to.

have you forgotten me,
have you finally perfected
your ******* perfect facade
that convinces me that i was nothing

or have you just realized
that i am nothing?