I am sitting across from you in a small diner booth over two cups of coffee that neither of us are drinking. you can't drink because you're too busy talking and I can't drink because my mouth has been frozen shut ever since we walked through the door. this silence feels more familiar than you do anymore. and when did you start ordering coffee? when did I? who are we now and how did we get here? how did it come to this? how did we let it come to this? how many nights did you spend fighting sleep because you couldn't stop thinking of me, wondering how I was doing or if I'd managed to stitch myself back together yet. how many nights. your mouth is still moving but I'm unable to hear what it is that you're saying. these words don't matter. they hold no weight at all. now you're apologizing. for what, I want to ask, but there are a million and one things you have to be sorry for, none of which you are. instead of I'm sorry it was always it's a joke, lighten up or you know I didn't mean it. I know. you didn't mean anything you said to me. I guess I'm crying now because your hand is reaching over the table to touch my cheek and your eyes are doing the thing where you look completely caught off guard. not sympathetic, just confused. I can't remember why we came here. why did we come here? how long has it been? you look different now, distant and not in love with me anymore. I don't like this view. I want to ask you if we can go back. you wouldn't know what I mean. you never do. did. sorry. I love you. I want to grab you by your shoulders and shout into your soul that I love you - that I've always loved you - that I never stopped and I never will. what are we doing here? then it happens. you reach for your pocket and my heart stops inside my chest as you extract the black box. the people around us probably think this is a proposal. I know better. your mouth moves again and your lips frame her name and the date and you're sorry but I'm not invited. and everything stops. it was supposed to be me. my white dress and your black tie and my father's hands shaking yours and my mother fixing my veil and my walk down the aisle and your vows in my ear. mine. my dress my day my church my life my you. you're saying you are sorry but you're not. it's something else. it's guilt. it's regret. it's the fact that we both know this is not how things were supposed to end up but here we are. cold cups of coffee and empty hearts. how did this happen how did we get here how did it come to this how
how did we let it come to this

Constantly,
over and over and over again
I find myself tripping and
breaking my back for people
who would never even think
of doing the same for me

And I realize that life really is
a never resting sea that takes
no mercy at all in beating the
best of people down
Down
Down

But then I look at you,
mid sentence and in full rant
about how none of this is fair
and and I realized you were actually
listening to me
A real live pair of working
human ears listening to me

And I didn't know how
and I didn't know why
but it didn't even matter because
when you kissed me I felt alive
in a way that made me forget
all of the times I had sworn I
wished I was dead

All I knew was that life
wasn't fair but I didn't even care
because it wasn't fair that
you loved me, because I didn't
deserve it, but God ****** I swear
one day I would earn it

You told me I would fall asleep much faster if I would just put my phone down at night
Count backwards from one hundred, maybe
While thinking about little Bo peep counting her sheep
Or a cow leaping over the moon
But what you don't understand is that every night before I fall asleep
I have to look at a picture of you before I close my eyes
And if I open them again
I have to look at another picture
Because I want you to be the last thing that I see every single night before I fall asleep
And if words like these just so happen to be crawling up the back of my throat
Flying through my fingertips dying to be told
Then that they must
Because when our days are all sold and the air has turned cold
I will turn to the page that my brain somehow holds
And shout from the rooftops a love that's too old
And so off I go to sleep
As you count your sheep
And my love for you will not go untold.

One time
I asked you if we could have a mirror installed on the ceiling above your bed
You laughed and then said,
why would we do that?
I felt only slightly embarrassed as I answered
that I wanted to see you from a third person perspective lying next to me
Because at times it felt almost too good to be true
Like when you say all these things you thought that you knew
And it turns out you never really knew anything at all
Like that it actually is possible to spend the better part of your entire existence trying to identify with the freckles on his back
or attempting to keep all of your sanity intact when you find yourself avalanching in love as you run your fingers along the track of his spine
At which point I pointed out how nice the mirror would be
So at any time I could glance up and see our bodies intertwined like the waves in the sea
And the absolute guarantee that there will always be stars in the sky
Even if you can't see them
The same way that in every goodbye there are words left unsaid and tears that aren't shed for the simple reason that we are all just trying to somehow keep our **** together
And so whether or not there will ever be a mirror above your bed I'm not quite sure
So I suppose, for the time being, my other senses will have to assure me that this will suffice
But that's quite alright
Because the feel of your skin on my hands is more than enough to ignite my own imaginative powers of the beautiful way you must look next to me at night

it's really something
how quickly things can change
how one poem ago
you were back
in my bed
in my heart
how one poem ago
you accidentally called me honey
in the middle
of a flirtatious conversation
and every time after that
was on purpose
if you ask me
there are no such thing
as accidents
I would tell you there is no
such thing
as coincidence
that you are only setting yourself
up
for failure
by choosing to believe
in miracles
if you asked me
I would tell you
a long time ago
many
many poems ago
I believed in love
at first sight
and
soul mates
and fate
but the truth is
these beliefs are built
on a quicksand foundation
of lust
and naivety
and sheer
stupidity
love
is the hardest part
of living
the deadliest war
to sign up for
your heart
is not a soldier
you
are not
a battleground
this love
is guerrilla warfare
that wink
this grin
those hands on my hips
these lips
on my neck
your breath
in my ear
my name
on your tongue
this
is
war
one poem ago
we were asleep
like lazy lovers
on a sunday afternoon
one poem ago
the sound of you
moaning my name
has seared itself
back into
my brain
one poem ago
I love you so
much that I say
I will never
let you go
and this morning
you are severing
your own arms
just to escape from
my grasp

i watch her lips move as she speaks
the symmetry of her face
stained glass eyes with cheeks of rose
a complexion as flawless as a fresh spring day
my heart is broken with every word she speaks.
for i feel my imperfections resounding more clearly in her beautiful frame
than i ever could in a mirror.
legs longer than any lie of self-love that i could ever spin
her waist narrow, molded into galaxies that boys will dream of grasping.


if she is spring, than i am the middle of february.
my skin is clear the way that the sky is green
my figure an ominous cloud of a long winter
lackluster, abrasive
daring those who look upon it to find themselves immediately disinterested

for i hold no fear for the oblivion of darkness
would march into the depths of the sea without glancing back
pretty girls are my sole fear
for i know that by the end of the day
you will look to her and, much like myself, not find a single flaw in her effortless effervescence,
and i will go by without so much as a passing glance.

It has all come back
Because I did something that I knew was wrong
That I knew would hurt me, destroy me
I knew it would because I have been all too familiar with its consequences

Hope
Supposedly its a 'good thing'
When hope lives in your body you are seen as being strong and capable

But the pessimistic people of this world are labeled differently
They are the 'party poopers' the glum, the depressed, the angry
Understanding this you could come to the conclusion that I have gathered

Hopelessness is good because you can never be let down
Everything can get better than it was from the beginning
And you don't sustain that hard, sucker-punch to the gut
When everything turns to ****
Because you already expected it to

And this is when I realize why I hated hope so much
Why I never held it fast
Because it never exceeds expectation and rarely meets it
So hope, it just let's you down
It can destroy a person

I'd call these people stupid but, of course, I'd be wrong
I call myself stupid when I make such mistakes
It is a mistake
It is a sin