Sorry*
Adj:
feeling remorse or distress, especially regarding the misfortune of another.
Sorry.*

Synonyms:
"I wish you hadn't found out."
"I wish that one thing hadn't happened."
"Please don't be mad at me."
"I feel guilty."
"I don't know what to say."

It KILLED me.
The way you snuggled together.
You looked so content.
And here I thought your arms were reserved for me.
Pfftt.

I bet it felt good didn't it?
I bet you slept soundly beside each other...
you and your pillow.

My tongue was red
And yours was blue
So we made purple.

Tie dye my taste buds.
Paint my lips
With a kiss.

It's amazing
That light (or lack thereof) can alter the way you
See something.
In sunlight strands of hair become diamonds.
In the dark
Any face can seem beautiful.
Dawn is the happy medium
Between the beauty of night
And the marvel of the day.

I knew it.
I swear I did.
From the moment you expressed your lack of interest for anything having to do with romance.
I’m not quite sure what I knew,
But I KNEW.
Maybe it was the fact that I would be happy memorizing the curves of your mouth by tracing your lips with my fingers in the dark.

Remember when you said that bit about not actually being hungry,
You just wanted flavors in your mouth.
There’s something endearing about the fact that we've fallen into an unconventional routine.
Perhaps because in traditional relationships it’s something people fear.

The casualty with which we regard the fact that though we have yet to meet,
Our lives will soon intersect indefinitely.
As if it were normal.
As if we care.

I’m far too susceptible to the way you seem to blink in slow motion
when you’re overdue for a good night’s sleep.
My favorite place to be is with you in my daydreams,
Thinking about things that could soon be reality.
Everyone and everything appears dull compared to way your eyes glimmer.

Have I told you that I adore?

that little facebook notification popped up on my phone.
the one that means someone has sent you a message.
you thanked me for all I'd taught you.
five years?
had we really know each other that long?
all that time
and you saved the worst parts for last.
that or your best parts were a mask.

don't read too much into the fact that I didn't reply.
I forgive you.

This year I won't bash Valentine's.
Not even when I check my Facebook
and see that whogivesashit just got engaged.

I won't make gagging noises
when I see couples engaging in acts of PDA.

This year I won't be a cynic
because I too have a Valentine.

the manifestation of love
as she liked to call it.

if you lost you voice
would they be able to see it?
or have you given the words
all the responsibility?

can you touch the object of your affection
with something other than your hands?
or are sensations mere physical interactions to you?

have you forgotten what it was like
*before you had your first kiss?

most of the time I don't even want to like people
and I'm not completely sure why.

don't talk to me.
go away.
leave me alone.

....................................

I didn't mean it.
come back.
I need you.

chug.chug.chug.
chug to remember.
chug to forget.
chug it when in need of company.
chug it because no one is around.
chug to disappear.
chug it cause you're bored
in order to make things interesting.
chug when it seems like everyone
is having more fun than you.
Chug to feel warm.
Chug to make it better.
chug because it tastes good.
chug it because it doesn't.
chug it to speed up time
or slow it down.
chug.chug.chug.
don't let it rest on your tongue.

I flattened my palm against yours to see if we were compatible.
My hand was dwarfed by yours.
                                                          ­         

                                "Are we compatible?" you ask.

"You feel familiar,
like a memory.
Comfortable.
Like shoes,
with worn in soles.
Like a dream,
that became reality."

The curves of your mouth
Are poetic.
Your eyes
Are two serenades
Sung by the sea.
Your voice  caresses
The ears of those that hear it.

You are a melody.

I like the perfection of your mind
And each of your body parts.

I like that you're more than willing
To look up the answer to my questions on Google.

I like the amount of irony
Involved in our flirtation.

I like the fact that we have
A joint blog on tumblr.

I like that every love song
Reminds me of you.

I like that you never add "too"
To the end of an "I love you."

How do you say you feel hollow
Without sounding pretentious?

"Fine. I feel fine."

They played gravel pit while people packed into the courtyard.
It made me think of you.
I'm sorry I didn't take more pictures.

It's hard to tell who's lonely in the dark.
It's hard to hear the shouts of those standing next to me
over the sound of the bass guitar rattling my ear drums.

And that ******* *****
that kept shoving into me.
I wanted to shove my elbow into her gut
to settle her down.
"People don't understand, these songs demand movement," she slurred
with her tacky bozo-red hair.

My feet are in puddles of booz.
I breathe in secondhand air
that tastes of beer.

The fog is thick
and mixes with the smoke of a thousand spliffs.
I wanted a contact high.
I wanted the opening band to give it a rest
so the band I came here to see could play.

But mostly I wanted you there
holding my hips while I swayed to the music.
And on the way home
when I stuck my head out of the window of a moving car
in order to feel something.
Not alive.
But whole.

Goose bumps sprang up on my arms
as dew clung to the warmth of my flesh.
The chill felt so right after all the heat.

Gasping,
as air whipped up into my nostrils
and down into my eager lungs.

I wanted you there.
Over a plate of salty fries,
talking about everything and nothing.

My greatest fear is that I'll never cease missing you
because you'll always be far away.

I give you permission
To dream of me
In something that comes off easily.

I consent to your hands
Trailing down my body
Until my vision goes spotty.

Touch me at every red light.
Make me feel right.

Don't make me ask again.

We agree on many things:
cats
scott pilgrim vs. the world
pizza
playlists
red wine

But on one thing we disagree:
I still love you despite our different tastes in cheese.

and you're perfect for all the wrong reasons:
you like cats more than you like people
your favorite days are ones that don't involve putting on pants
you can't seem to chop onions without cutting your fingers.

and we work despite the distance:
we hate the same things
we have synchronized Netflix dates
we like each others' frequencies.

you are perfection that fills up an empty bed
you are everything I want

and you are
**missing from me.

Don't laugh okay?
Swear.
Swear not to laugh.

Okay so remember that guy I was telling you about?
Yes the one with the puffin sweater.
Well we didn't actually meet at an Arctic Monkeys concert.

We met online.
Like in a chatroom.
We cured each other's loneliness.
And then we went from there.

And that's as close as any of us get
To touching happiness...
Contentness.

But it's never enough to satisfy us.
Only enough to make us miserable.

I just want
what everybody wants.

It just took me a while to realize I can't have it.

countback from three
two
one.

when I get to zero
time stops
and resets.

one
two
three means it's okay.
everything.
it's okay
it's okay
it's okay.

And what isn't, will be.
Eventually.

I don't feel good
I don't feel good
I don't feel right
and there's no good reason why.
I want to sleep
but I won't
cause I never do.
What if I miss something
while I'm sleeping?
But I won't
cause I never do.

I pull your face up to mine so we can kiss again.
Your mouth mirrors the eagerness of mine.
“Do it,” I plea. “I want you to.”
You press against me, rubbing against the outside until my pleas for mercy are reduced to faint moans.
And when you finally give in my moans are no longer for mercy,
but as a demonstration of my gratitude.

“I’m nervous,” I say because I am.
“Me too.”
“We should just do it.”
“Wait,” you say, holding up a finger as you stare at your watch.
“For what?” I ask, not sure whether to take your response as an acceptance or refusal.
A moment later you point at the face of your watch.
12:00
“Midnight,” you say.

I want you.
I’m thinking it, but don’t say it this time.
I’m sure you can tell from the way I’m watching you from over the rim of my wine glass.
We’re sitting in my bed, murdering a bottle of summer red.
I’m tired, but not quite ready to sleep.
“Let’s build a fort,” I suggest.

why do you even like me?
4,432 miles away
and you still find a way to make me
nervous.
I calculate my words
and find that they are lacking.

Our romance is long division.
Did I forget to carry the one?

what is it about me?
Is it the way my hair frizzes when it's wet?
or the fact that my teeth are still slightly crooked despite my having had braces?

No.
Surely it's my flirting.
And how my attempts at **** come off pathetic.
I'm sure you find it endearing.

I didn't notice that face,
the one I make when I'm concentrating -
until you mentioned it.

a bit of me is bothered,
bothered that you notice my embarrassing habits.
but another bit,
and a more prominent one -
is flattered.
flattered that you're watching me so closely
that you can see things
that I haven't noticed for 19 years.

your eyes
plus my eyes.

that's why.

if nothing else,
curiosity.
curiosity about what our math equations equal.

but let's wait until we're old.
and by old I mean 25.

I'm so                       tired.
Sleep beckons.


Come hither.

but I refuse to succumb
before I'm ready.

My shoulders ache
my eyes burn.


I can help.
Let me fix you.
You need me.


How can I refuse?

Hi.
Hi.
I can be more interesting.
talking
about
nothing
in
particular.

Bye.
No
Conv­ince me to stay.
My feet are cold.
I'll warm them with mine.
My hands are cold.
Put them in my shirt.
*As long as you return the favor.

Let's get under the covers together
and make a lil love tent.
Warm, cozy and
snug.

Wandering love tent hands.
I'll be gentle.
But I don't want you to be.


Pushing our love tent bodies together.
Love tent lip bites.
No pants allowed in our lil love tent.

I like how acceptable it is
To overshare when you're drunk.

I like how acceptable anything is.
And how easy it is for people to forget.

Pretend you didn't say that one thing.
And I'll pretend I didnt hear you.

Hey, so I felt like writing.
But I didn’t know what to write.
So I’m here.
Talking to myself.
I’m eating pizza pockets in bed.
I’m listening to the **.
I’m cold.
I’ve had a glass of summer red and it’s too early to sleep.
I’m thinking about Ben.
I’m thinking about my dad.
I’m thinking about where I’ll be in a month or two from now.

It’s hard to wake up some days.
Because I think this is as good as I’m going to get.
Because I’m not so good at this.
Any of it.
I’ve only just mastered breathing.
But functioning?
Sustaining healthy relationships?
I can’t even win the approval of the person that’s sole job is to love me whether I deserve it or not.
My dad has given me the cold shoulder before.
But this feels heavier.
And I can’t help but to think that perhaps I deserve it.
I’m not always very nice.
In fact I think sometimes I like the idea of people thinking I’m a complete *****.
If I was a therapist I’d probably say something like: “It’s a defense mechanism.”
Yeah. Maybe.
Maybe I’m actually a really nice and I like being in the company of others.
Maybe.
Maybe I’ll find success in my future career.
Maybe I’ll live in a nice house
and I won’t **** up my children’s lives because I never had a proper parental figure.
Maybe I can give them the stability I’ve craved my whole life.
In a perfect world.
But the world is infamous for its lack of perfection.

What I hope to accomplish through my writing is complete honesty.
If nothing else, I want to be able to be honest with myself.
The one place I can do that is my writing.
Honesty comes easy on paper.
It’s softer. Gentler.
But words spoken always seem too harsh, and too loud.
I don’t know much about anything, but there are some things I do know.
I know that I want to give and receive love.
I know that there are parts of myself that I like to pretend don’t exist.
I know that I am scared of just about everything. But…

I think I will be okay despite the odds.
But I’m not sure okay is good enough.

im not this little girl that's afraid of the world.
im not afraid of the dark
or my father
or the end of days.

im not afraid i'll regret the things i didnt say
or do.
or the places i didnt go.

im not afraid of anything.
.
.
.
except you.

Sweet,
with a subtle carbonation.
Forefinger and thumb
running up the length of the stem of the glass.
Palm at the base of the bulb.
Swirling
Clinking
"Cheers."

Cold,
but warmed by the wine.
Touching lips.
Touching tongue.
*Kiss, kiss

Communal poems
don’t work.
Too many ideas
and too much
judgement.
I feel self conscious.
Naked.
No clothing.
No words.
I’ve forgotten them all.

I want to cuddle and listen to the hum of the fridge.
I want to trace your features
With my fingertips.
I want all of me
Touching all of you.

You smell fizzy.
Everything you do is what I want.
You're fun to be in love with.

You make my heart hiccup.

I'm lying on this inflatable mattress. And I'm cold. And I'm miserable. & I want to go home. But I don't know where that is anymore.

it's scary to open up and let people in
to see the bits of you that you try to keep hidden.
To give them the power
Heal you or hurt you.

To become hopeful
And dependent on promises made late at night.
To let their hands touch your heart;
Hoping that they're clean.

It's scary
To bask in the glow of another's affection
And to know that you need it more than you'll let show.

I'm sorry I stopped writing.
I think I got scared that once I finished the story
you'd go away.


(Because what reason do you have to stay.)

i need to create
to keep from decomposing.

to keep from
r
o
t
t
i
n
g

but my flesh falls off anyway.

I want so many things.
But mostly I want to be wanted.

and I watched you
while you slept,
wishing I were with you.

But I could settle for this.
You felt real.
We were as close as we could get without touching.

at midnight I made a wish.



Not hard to guess what it is.

I wanted to make love
Because love is something you make?

No,
But I wanted to
With you.