It’s been a long time

since the book in my hands

had a cracked spine.

And it’s been a long time,

since my hands traveled

the distance along yours.

I remember that night when you were drunk,
mumbling over and over again
about how you weren’t a good person.

We all laughed at such a thought
escaping your chapped lips.
I couldn’t fathom you in a bad light,
never mind knowing that’s
how you viewed yourself.

Cigarette ashes and cheap *****.
Those were the things we indulged in
two nights before you decided
you no longer cared about me.

Unfortunately, you were right about yourself.

You aren’t a good person,
because good people don’t shatter
and break other good people.
That would be bad karma.
And I hope that cycle envelops
your damaged and sorry soul.

My heart
feels heavy
being weighed down
by the words
I’m too afraid
to say to you.

Sometimes
I wonder
if the ocean
would swallow
me whole
if I jumped
off of a cliff
and let it
envelop my
aching body.

Sometimes
I wonder what
it would do
once it had
its hold on me.

Would it let go?
Or would it
wash over
my bruises
and scrapes
creating a
bandage
of love
and stinging
sea salt?

Could it handle
each and every one
of my problems
and fears, or would
it shy away from them
just like you did?

Nothing can compare to the feeling of
caressing just blossomed sunflowers.
They reflect their warm gaze upon my cold,
freckled cheeks while their golden hue
searches onward for other souls to bless.

Nothing can compare. Except for you.

They remind me of you and your warm gaze
that always seems to settle upon my eyes.
They remind me of your hands and how they
feel when they’re pressed against my face.
And how our faces press against each other’s while
our lips are safely locked together.

No feeling can compare to freshly blossomed sunflowers.
Except for the feeling I get when I’m with you.

I think I realized why
you are the way
that you are tonight.
Once your heart gets broken,
you don’t care or have the capacity
to retain that doing it to
somebody else makes you weak.