what do you do? you keep going. you have to, right? you can’t stop. you just can’t. life itself was created to keep going. it’s in your bones to keep going. there’s a future out there for you - songs waiting to be listened to, words begging to be spoken, beautiful things that demand to be photographed, to be sketched by you, and only you. there are waterfalls out there that exist only for you to jump off of cliffs and into them. there are albums with your name as the songs. and if you truly believe it would not matter if you stayed alive or not, i cannot sit here and convince you that it does matter. i don't have that power. here’s the thing, though - you do. you can find your purpose. i swear to god it’s out there.

I’m not sure you know what it’s like to love
someone you know is only going to demolish you.
What it’s like to give your body to someone
who doesn’t care what it would look like
turned inside out, the beauty of it
dripping from your bones, the words that haunt
you when the lights go out, the dreams you swore
to catch but just nearly missed.
I’m not sure you know what it’s like to watch
for the expiration date, wait for
that last good day before the question
is asked, the “where is this going?”
the self-promises not to reach out to him
days after you’ve gotten the wrong answer.
I’m not sure you know what it’s like to prepare
bomb shelters out of empty Ben & Jerry’s,
your roommate’s wine, your favorite leggings
and a blank document. I don’t think you know
what it’s like to play tag with each other’s tongues
in your bed while you just wait
for it to be empty again.

I love all the things you do,
all the stupid little hair flips and the smiling
between kisses, how you cradle my face like you just know
you’re going to tear my smile apart one day,
but you don’t get it.

You don’t know what it’s like to be the girl
everyone breaks. To have to watch days
on your calendar pass by while crossing your fingers
that today isn’t the day he grows tired of your jokes,
the day he finds the sparkle has faded, the day
the disinterest starts. You don’t know
what it’s like to hold someone you know isn’t ever
going to be yours.

I love that cheeky and sassy smile on your face,
and the way you hold me within your embrace.
I love the way your eyes are the colour of earth kissed
by spring falls and how the feel of your touch throws me into the midst.
I love the passion that spills from within you
and the way we connect on many different levels too.
I love that you're the only person I truly trust
with all my darkest secrets; you make things better like magic fairy dust.
I love how you support me in all my endeavours and dreams
and how you're the one who helps me face my demons by all means.

I am undeniably, deeply, irrationally and pathetically in love with you,
and the idea that one day you might fall in love with me too is something I cling onto.

It is the fact that you don't notice it.
You can't seem to notice how it hurts,
even if it is such a tiny thing you have done.
I am seeing it happen,
watching it unfold before my eyes.
I know what is going on,
I know she still thinks of you,
and you still think of her.
How could you let me love you for this long,
and think about someone else.
I will not show how hurt I am to you,
you would think I am irrational.
The only part I don't understand is,
how could you let this happen so freely?
I am typing this and feeling my heart break a little bit more.
My eyes are quivering to hold back the tears.
I am writing this as I look at you.
I am writing this as you look at her.

Don't let yourself
Get close to me
If you don't
Intend to stay
Don't dance
Along the
Thinning line
Of loving and
Going away

Don't allow me  
To attach myself
To who I think
You are,
Better strangers
With whole hearts
Than broken
Lovers
From afar.

Please
Tattoo the words
I am not good enough
Into my skin
So I will never trick myself
Into thinking otherwise
Because when I think perhaps
I am
My pride falls out of my chest
And drags on the ground
Leaving behind each broken piece
That I'll never be able to find
To put myself
Back together
So please
Save me the embarrassment
Carve the words into my skin yourself
So I won't have to

i. Cut your heart open
Take a knife, twist your heart open. Watch as everything you have bottled up
spill on the floor. Break it into pieces and trample on the glasses. Listen to
what it’s trying to tell you. Uncover every hidden desire and side-swept secrets.
For once in a long time, be honest with yourself. You’ve spent so much time
locking everyone out. You’ve even kept your own identity from yourself. This is
how you start writing a poem: Cut your heart open, be honest with yourself.

ii. Give yourself the freedom to feel
Face yourself. Touch your reflection if that’s what makes you real. Remind
yourself of your inner core and get rid of your inability to feel. For so long
you’ve masked the pain, ignored the numbness and forgot about the rain.
Feel the anger running in your veins because of all the time you’ve wasted
on someone who never deserved your love. Let a river’s load of tears gush
out your eyes, feel the despair of how you have loved but lost. Feel the loathe
you have for yourself because you’re so pathetic; because no matter what
you’d do anything to have him back. Clutch your chest as you feel the
physical ache in your heart because it’s broke and distorted in a way
it’s never been before. This is how you make a poem great: Give
yourself the freedom to feel, share with the world your raw emotions.

iii. Take the bitterness and turn them into pretty words
Take a paper and pen. Translate the way you feel onto a clean sheet of paper.
This is the only time you’ll ever have a clean start again. Take all the words
you have at the back of your mind and write them down. Let the pain and the ache,
the anger and the hurt, make their way on the paper. Don’t think too much
about it, the words you have they’re all who you are. Tell the story you’ve
kept in for so long and let them glide from the pen through the paper. Write
all you think that is necessary. Don’t think about what people will say. Because
a poem is a poem, it’ll be bitter and pretty. That’s the glory in the poem, it’s
ambiguity. This is how you write a poem: You stay bitter yet it will come out
pretty. No matter the bitterness, you always have the ability to make it pretty.