i built a wall,
wide and tall,
but forgot to make it soundproof.

Before I realized it
I began writing for the readers
Not completely
But
Through little things
I avoided long
Too much rambling
Uninteresting
I subconsciously
Diverged towards
Topics I believed would catch my readers attention
Still involving my emotions
Yet
With bias
Which begs the question
Who am I writing for
Truly?

i fear one day that
i will write to please.
i will not write what
needs to be said, i
will not write what begs
to be removed from my
aching chest, i will
not write when i need
to write, i will not
tell my truths to my
small community.
i fear that i will
lie to make others
feel the emotions
they want to feel, not
the emotions i
need so urgently
to get out of me.

dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.

i’m gonna watch you fall in love with her
and i’ll be so, so overwhelmingly happy
for you
because all i’ve ever wanted
is for you to be happy
and if she is what makes you happy
sure, i wish it was me
but you are happy
and therefor
i am happy
————————
i’m gonna watch you fall in love with her
****, i’m gonna watch you
progress from the cute comments about her
the way she smiles and flips her hair
the dress she wears that you like so much
to about how she tastes like honey
and how you love to run your fingers down her back
to how good you feel when she moans your name
to how you guys are talking about your future
to your doubts
and insecurities about the relationship
and, although you’ve never been there before,
maybe,
to you proposing
and asking my opinions on rings:
“i don’t know what girls like!”
i won’t say anything,
unless, of course, i’m drunk
and then i’ll say everything
and you’ll remember more of it than i want you to
and i’ll have panic attacks
and you’ll feel like it’s your fault
but, god,
will i be
so
*******
happy
for you and her
because i will see the way you look at her
and laugh with her
and how warm and genuine your contentment is
you’ll be glowing
basking in the light that she gives off
and everything will fall into place for you,
finally.
just the way you’ve always wanted it to.
but my world
will
shatter
over
and
over
again
because i will never find someone
that gives off more light than you
and i will never
-glow-
around someone the way i
—glow—
around you
and i will never
feel anything more
than i did that night
when i thought that,
maybe,
you feel the same way too
but you do not
because you have found something in her,
in her bleach blonde hair and crisp blue eyes,
that you will never find in me.
but, ****
would i be
so
*******
proud
of
you
at your wedding.

i am the moon.
small and insignificant,
almost pointless,
almost being the keyword.
people say i light the night like the stars do,
even though i am a floating chunk of rock.
floating chunks of rock do not illuminate,
no.
floating chunks of rock are illuminated,
but only by the stars.
i reflect your light on to the world at night,
and i am worshipped like the god i am not.
you are the beauty,
burning at temperatures unheard of,
touching every planet in the solar system,
gleaming off of me.
i am not envious of you,
your job is much too important.
and like i said before,
i am almost pointless.
but what is the world without your light,
even when you’re asleep?