Dear you,
         I miss you.
The way your eyes looked identical to the stars in the sky,

The way your heart was so authentic it's nothing money can buy.

I miss you.

The way your kisses sent electricity through my veins,

The way you held me close and took me away from the pain.

I miss you.

the way that all your flaws made you even more pure,

the way you took care of me when i'm down like you always had the cure.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you so much it hurts.

Four, nearly five years ago, he was 4 years and 11 months my senior. We would stay up most of the night. Together. Then I would wake up and he would be gone. And after a few months it became a normal thing to wake up alone. Undisturbed and a little cold. Make the bed. Put away dishes. Gather my things. Go home. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until one day he was gone for 8 months. No goodbye. No farewell. Just a break up text and disappointment. I would wake up and he would be gone. But this time he would be thousands of miles away. And all I could think about was water. And where the heck he could possibly be. But not wanting to write, because I didn't want to bother him. But I drank and caved in. I was tired of drowning. It was hot there. Over 100 degrees. He sent pictures and wrote back quickly. He came back. He showed me things he bought from other countries. I smiled again. He showed me more pictures. He got a dog. Fast forward another year. I would wake up and he would be gone. It was a normal thing by now. We had a routine. Make the bed. Put away dishes. Play with the dog. Gather my things. Go home. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Drown. Tell him how I felt. Radio silence. 10ft down. Explain how long I felt that way. No explanation from him. 20ft. No apology. 30ft. Direct questioning on how he felt. Dodged and avoided. 40ft. Go to bed. Wake up. And he's gone again. 50ft. 60ft. And it's cold. I can't feel my toes anymore. And it's getting dark. Play with the dog. 70ft. Make the bed and put away dishes. 80ft. Gather my things. Go home. 90ft. Silence. 100ft. And I'm done. I can no longer breathe. And I can no longer swim. I am sinking. And the pressure of the water is crushing my lungs. For two years I choked on sea water. I lived and I died. I waited. But I didn't cry. At 100ft under the waves tears are pretty pointless. After two years of wanting this thing, this person, I no longer want it. Because it doesn't want me. But I'm still afraid when I wake up. And the bed is empty. And I still panic when someone walks out the door. Because I never know which time will be the last. Or which ocean they're about to cross. And my childlike awe and innocence were thrown overboard and forgotten. It created an obsession for that lifestyle. So I became it. I woke up early. I pushed myself farther than I thought possible. And after years of watching him put his on, I earned my own uniform. And I went back to him. But I felt nothing. I surfaced. I can swim again. I have no feelings. I don't even have ill will anymore. He's only a friend. And there will come a day, quite soon, actually, when he will go home. Halfway across the country. And he won't be back. And I won't see him again. Ever. And that's ok. Because people leave. And sometimes they don't come back. And you're cold and a little disturbed. But you make the bed. Gather your things. And leave. Now the one who has panic attacks, the light sleeper, the one who holds a pillow at night to take the place of a body, and the one who begs you not to go, becomes the one who can't be tied down. She leaves. She drifts. Floating on the waves alone in peace and absolute terror. But not love. Not hate. Because she lost all feeling about 100ft down.

The best part is, 5 years later you're begging for me to enter your life again. Once or twice a week, you're inviting me out with you and your friends. You're asking me what I've been up to, where have I been and why haven't I seen you lately. But I'm here. I have always been here. You were the one who left. Every morning. Your time has passed. I was young and dumb. Which is why you probably never cared much. Understandable. I grew up. And now you see my worth. But so do I. And I will never allow myself to be disrespected like that again. Lesson learned. Now it's your turn to wake up alone. Make your bed. Put away your dishes. Gather your things and go home.

It’s the dark marks you left after you bit me.
I’m not doubting your soul, I’m just wondering
About its location, and
I’m warning myself
To once again, to once more
Not throw myself
To the dogs
To not jump the shark, hit the ground.

You always liked pop culture references, love.
Can I swear? Can I hate you when your fingers
Are touching me and when your skin flirts with mine?
Can I break down on my knees
(I bet you’d like that)
And start screaming, with all the rage and all the ******
Love I still, always, feel for you, as it rubs off all my
Confidence, as it rips apart, ****** inch by ****** inch,
Every part of my stomach, and every part of my not
Yet fully mended soul, as your fingers follow the trail of
Sin and pleasure, up and down, in a deaf rhythm, my limbs.

Can I, fully aware, relish in your touch, as your fingers
Trace every scar and every memory that your presence
Has left through the years on my skin?

Do you know how all the teeth marks on my shoulders
Remind me of a night? Not just any night. A night where
I counted stars, literally and in the abstract, as I sat down
And forgot how to use words and the sinking feeling of knowing
That not even beloved poetry could really give the feeling
Of how beastly I feel nearly you.
Oh limbs, that cry for touch and strength.
How can I make justice
From you?
How can I possibly honor the feeling of hungry need?
As it beats, craves, screams it’s eerily war cries.

Despair is my nom du guerre.
Oh, how reason has deserted me.

Blocked and unfriended
blocked and unfriended
blocked and unfriended
is this truly the death
sentence we make it out
to be?

It fascinates me how pervasive
technology has become
and how a friend request
gives way to knowing
every intimate detail
about each other's lives

Congrats on that baby, by the way
Yes it looks just like the father!
(No it doesn't, it looks like an alien
because it is a newborn baby)

But when we cut the umbilical
cords that we have attached to each other
for emotional sustenance,
what are we saying?

I don't want you to know
about my life!
We aren't friends online
so you can't permanently
eavesdrop on my eventful
and much-more-exciting-than-yours life!

And you should feel bad
about that.
You're being left out.
I don't value you enough
to let you be
a bystander
an extra
in my life hoping for a little screentime.

What a creative way to hurt each other.

This summer vacation
I chose to write poetry
and someone told me
that I'm not the worst
at it because I am a human
and not a Vogon
and I spent my time standing
on a digital street corner
shouting my threnodies
into the digital white sky
to join the cacophony of
suffering
and healing
and dwelling
and moving on
and of love and hate
and how
the thought of you keeps us up so
god ****** late
that we forgot to set an alarm
and were late to work for the second
time in four years
but in the darkness we
are huddled
bleeding binary
into words of hope.
Rise, rise
and shine
better than the sun ever could.

You hesitate now
As if my touch could burn you
But you know it won't