take me back
to when love used to be
holding hands in a movie theater
and sitting next to each other at lunch
and writing their name on your hand
where no one got hurt too bad

as opposed to getting drunk
and sleeping with all of your friends

we went out for coffee
as friends, to a place
we used to go to all the time
and i'd ask for the same thing
up to a point that you stopped
asking me

but after the long line and
under the warm cafe lights
i was thinking about how
this felt just like old times
until it was almost our turn
to order, when you looked
at me and asked,
"what do you want?"

i drank my coffee,
i stuffed the unpaid for
books in your bag,
i smoked two cigarettes
on the 5 minute drive
back to my house

and left you at the door.

once, i liked a guy
who was good with his words,
a poet, if you will.
it didn't take long
to realize that was all
he was good with,
and relationships
were at the bottom
of that list.
now i wonder
if those two traits
go hand in hand.

it's not hard
only to want love
to write about.

wouldn't it be useless
to ask you to take me back
after miles and miles of
missed phone calls
and 3 break ups

simply because i want you

it wouldn't work
because you just want a girlfriend
someone to hold when
the nights get too cold
and eyelids feel too heavy
you want comfort

i want all the pain
that is being yours

i want to show you how lovely my room
looks when i first wake up and the
light is pouring in through cracked blinds
but a picture doesn’t do it justice and
a response from you has become even
less frequent than a thought about
something other than you and your
tragically well put together writings
that never seem to be addressed
to me anymore but i think that
if i were to put a few more states and messy
goodbyes between us then you might
just find me interesting and worth
your time again

i've started writing so many ******* poems
and i can't finish any of them because
you took my ability to have closure
when you walked away.

on nights when you remember
can you feel my anger
through all of these years
and all of the miles?

everything that you touch
is luckier than i am