I remember that one time I volunteered to hand out snacks at my little brother's 3rd grade end-of-the-year-party.
A father tells his son to say "please" when he asks for a cupcake. I give the boy two, because at his age cupcakes must mean to him what you meant to me.
"Do you see where 'please' will get you?" the father asks, and I want to blurt out, "That's not always true." I want to say, "You can tell someone 'please' and it won't be the magic word, because some people don't believe in magic."
Instead, I nod and smile, but I remember how I asked you to please feel for me what I felt for you, and please don't go, and please don't tell me you have someone else, and please tell me this is some sort of sick joke. I feel my throat close up and I ask if I can please excuse myself, because I need a moment.
I step into the hall and run to the bathroom. I sit in a stall sobbing for 10 minutes. When I realize how ridiculous I must look for crying over a boy who never deserved me, I pledge to never shed a tear over you again. And I kept that promise.

Putting ink and needle
to my skin made me
realize the impermanence
of life. How flesh is a
life time but a life time
is just that,
only some number of years.
They say that tattoos are forever,
but cells flake off, organs decay,
and brains forget
the most important,
beautiful things.
I’m learning that even the
most profound of scars and
aches and pains
are all impermanent.
Because skin is just skin,
and I am just human,
and pain is not permanent.

Sometimes I want to blame myself
for how you are and how you act.
I get angry thinking and wondering
if I could have made things better.
Regretting that I didn't stay to help
with picking up the broken pieces.
But reality is the remedy for all of my regret.
It is not my fault.
You were beyond my reach
even when we were face to face.