In the light, he no longer calls you "baby." He no longer thinks it's cute that you can't stop your hands from shaking. He no longer tells you it's okay to stay in bed; he starts pulling the sheets off of you, yelling "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET BETTER." In the light, you can see the outlines of his cheeks and the way his eyes look down at you and you can tell he never really loved you. In the light, he's packing his bags and driving his car away. Things aren't as simple when the sun is shining through your window - everything is so much clearer. In the dark, you could pretend you were okay because he couldn't quite make out the frown on your face or your shaky hands or what those prescription bottles read. Now he can look at you clearly and he doesn't like what he sees.

He doesn't like the taste of black coffee
but he swears he could drown in her eyes.
He hates mornings
because there aren't any stars to look up at
but her smile shines just as brightly.
The sound of birds chirping
makes him want to scream,
but her voice sounds like wind chimes
and he wouldn't mind waking up early
if it means he'll get to listen to it.

I've been waiting for him to come back for an entire year, holding onto the hope that maybe he's looking at the same stars as me and maybe he's listening to that song that reminds him of me but nothing numbs the pain of him leaving. He's falling in love with a new girl every night and even though it will always be him for me he's going to keep moving on until eventually I'll be just another spot in his memory, a blur hidden in his past and I've tried my hardest to move on. I keep wishing someone else would break my heart but I guess I forgot that he took my heart with him when he left. I speak to any man with the same accent as him like maybe it'll keep the memory of him here...I don't want him to disappear. maybe he's forgotten all about me but I'll never forget the first time he said he loved me like it was something he was unsure of like he was scared of it and I was scared too, because there was nothing more beautiful than the way his eyes lit up every time he smiled or the way he walked like he was taking up too much space while at the same time taking up no space. every time I come close to loving anyone else I am reminded of the day he told me to wait for him and the truth is I forgot my own name when I learned his and I think I would wait until the universe collapsed in on itself if it meant I could hear his voice once again.

When he kisses me, I wonder what it's like to kiss you and when he holds my hand I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have your hand intertwined with mine and I know that I shouldn't be thinking about you. Not when I'm with someone else but his eyes don't shine as bright as yours do, his lips aren't stained bright pink and he doesn't say my name the way you used to. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about the fact that I try to fill the empty hole in my chest with other men simply because you're so far away I can't even reach for your hand. I'm sick of writing poems about boys who I could not care less about because it won't help me get rid of you. You're halfway across the globe falling in love with a different girl every night and I bet you no longer think of me, but I sure as hell think of you. It doesn't matter if I am reading or writing or planting kisses all over someone else's neck. You are always on my mind.

How ironic is it the songs we fell in love with each other to now cause me to hurriedly switch the station in hopes of forgetting you? The chorus brings me back to the first time we kissed and it no longer causes my heart to flutter, instead my lungs fill with smoke and my fingertips burn, as if I've been touching too many stars but I know better because I haven't felt your skin in months, because you were the sun that made my whole world brighter. I can't listen to my favorite songs anymore because I remember how much you hated them and I remember you fell for the music you listened to almost as hard as I fell for you. I am turning the radio on full blast, listening to a song I can't remember the words to in hopes of stopping myself from trying to bring myself back to old times because I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never again experience the pleasure of hearing my name stumble carelessly past your lips. My hands won't shake when I hear your laughter because she's the one making you laugh now.

someone once asked me what love sounds like and i remember thinking of your voice, or more specifically the way my name sounds coming from your mouth. when i think of love, i think of your laughter. when i think of love, i think of you. i like to think of your body like a universe and maybe i want to drown in that underwater city inside your chest. someone once asked me what love looks like and i remember thinking of your chest, rising and falling. i remember thinking of your messy hair on lazy afternoons, our bodies tangled together like two halves of a love letter. they say that everyone’s heartbeat is unique but if you listen closely enough, you can hear my heart beating at the same rhythm as yours, like you and i were destined to be together but i often become terrified because infinity minus a number is still infinity, and if i were to subtract me from you…you would still be you.

i can't stop thinking of your hands. everything is spilling through the cracks of my fingers like hourglass sand. i can't take control of anything, it's no wonder i've always hated driving. the words on the page are starting to blur and i can't seem to get my eyes to focus because all they can see is your name. this year in psychology i learned that we choose what we want to listen to, that we shut out everything that doesn't seem important to us and it makes sense now that i don't hear anything unless it rhymes with your name.

they say that the devil
is beautiful but so very
evil and i always
wondered how
something that looks
so pure could have
such a contaminated
soul
but i looked into your
eyes and dug my way
into your mind and i
realized that perhaps
the most precious
things have the
power to destroy
anything

When he asks you to write about him, remind him that you are not that kind of poet. When he asks you to describe his eyes, stop yourself from telling him how bright they are and how they remind you of the stars you stare at in the late night. Do not tell him they are brighter than any of those stars and while they may not light up the whole sky, they sure as hell light up your heart. Instead, smile and tell him that they are just blue – nothing is very special about them. He will ask you why your hands and lips tremble when you're with him, but you mustn't explain how fast your heart beats when he looks at you, or how sometimes you swear your lungs fill up with smoke when you hear him laugh soundly because of something you said. You shouldn't write about him, because you're not the kind of girl that writes about someone who could be here one day, and easily gone the next.

THIS MORNING I WOKE UP WITH A HEAVY WEIGHT ON MY CHEST AND A NUMBING FEELING IN MY HANDS AND THIS IS HOW I KNOW I HAVE BEEN DREAMING OF YOU AGAIN. I CAN'T BREATHE KNOWING THAT YOU'VE FOUND SOMEONE NEW AND TRUTH IS I HAVEN'T STOPPED WONDERING IF HER EYES SHINE BRIGHTER THAN MINE EVER WILL AND I BET HER HANDS DON'T SHAKE WHEN SHE TOUCHES YOU AND IT ISN'T FAIR THAT SHE GETS TO MEMORIZE THE SMELL OF YOUR COLOGNE AND FEEL THE WARMTH OF YOUR BODY WHEN I'M TOO FAR AWAY TO EVEN REACH FOR YOUR HAND.

The other day,
a man driving on the wrong side of the road
crashed into a pick up truck, killing himself instantly.
It reminds me of how you'll leave.
Lately, I've found myself drifting onto the left lane
and it makes me wonder about all of the people
that have died this way,
if they just couldn't tell their left from their right
or if they, too, were trying to go back to the past.

I can't help it that sometimes I smile at car crashes.
It reminds me of how he'll leave.
When he looks at me, my hands feel like burning matches.

His smile looks like lightning flashes,
I keep thinking the electric shock might help my heart start to beat.
I can't help it that sometimes I smile at car crashes

Our story will soon be only ashes,
I guess I need to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve.
When he looks at me, my hands feel like burning matches.

Tell me why my hands keep shaking like avalanches,
he can't see that he only makes me bleed.
I can't help it that sometimes I smile at car crashes.

I keep thinking he only took my heart to cache it,
this isn't something that I can grieve.
When he looks at me, my hands feel like burning matches.

His shirt is stiff with blood splashes,
he's looking at his hands like this is something he can't believe.
I can't help it that sometimes I smile at car crashes.
When he looks at me, my hands feel like burning matches.

THE LAST TIME I TRIED TO WRITE ABOUT YOU I HAD AN ON AND OFF HEADACHE FOR A MONTH AND THAT WAS OVER A MONTH AGO TELL ME WHY I'M WRITING ABOUT YOU AGAIN AS IF I DIDN'T LEARN MY LESSON AS IF MY HANDS AREN'T STILL NUMB FROM THE DAY YOU LEFT. I'VE STARTED DRINKING COFFEE IN THE MORNINGS I KEEP THINKING IF I FILL MYSELF UP WITH THINGS YOU HATE MAYBE I'LL BEGIN TO HATE YOU TOO BUT INSTEAD I HAVE THIS ACHING FEELING IN MY CHEST I SWEAR THERE'S A BLACK HOLE ******* UP ALL THE HAPPINESS THAT'S LEFT AND I NEVER HAD MUCH TO BEGIN WITH BUT NOW THAT IT'S GONE I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THIS SADNESS. MY LUNGS ARE FILLED WITH SMOKE I THINK I'M DROWNING I CAN NOT BREATHE AND I DON'T NECESSARILY WANT TO BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU. I DON'T WANT TO SAY MY HEART SHATTERED THE DAY YOU LEFT BUT YOU MUST HAVE THROWN ALL THE TINY LITTLE PIECES INTO THE DEEPEST PARTS OF THE OCEAN JUST SO THAT I COULDN'T FIND THEM. SO THAT I WOULD BE MISERABLE WITHOUT YOU. I'M JUST TRYING TO FIND MY WAY BACK HOME ALTHOUGH I'M NOT SURE I HAVE ONE ANYMORE, BECAUSE I GOT SO USED TO LIVING INSIDE OF YOU AND YOU LEFT. THE ONLY HOME I EVER KNEW ABANDONED ME AND I DON'T THINK I HAVE THE STRENGTH TO BUILD MYSELF A NEW ONE.

He tells himself that one day
he’ll be with the woman that he loves
but he will have to fix himself first.
He leaves her shaking on the bathroom floor
because he can’t stop his own hands from trembling
and he doesn’t think he’s capable
of picking up all of her broken pieces
when he is still slicing open his fingertips
trying to clean up his own mess.
His story isn’t one you would tell your children
because it isn’t one that ends happily.
Years later her long hair still appears in his dreams
and he can’t bring himself to listen to his favorite music anymore
because he swears he can hear her laughter in every tune.
He buries himself in other girls
whose eyes don’t shine nearly as brightly as hers used to
and he drinks whiskey every night
in the hopes of forgetting her name,
but he is afraid he will end up forgetting his own first.

Time flies.
Before you know it,
you're not six,
but sixteen
and you can't even remember
what you were feeling
when you rode a bike for the first time.
You can't remember what you felt
when you first accomplished something–something big.
You can't wrap your mind around the fact that you're two years away from
being considered an adult
because you sure don't feel like one.
In fact,
you find it amusing
because you're not even responsible
enough to know what to wear in the mornings.
It's crazy to think that we are just kids
who swear we know the future.
We think our words will take us halfway around the world
but most of us won't even leave this town
and that girl who dreams of the city
will never see New York.
When we were younger,
we thought being teenagers
would be heaven.
We dreamt of makeup
and parties
and sneaking out to kiss the cute boy
across the street
but nobody ever bothered to tell us that
there would be days when we no longer want to live or, rather, days where we
feel so numb we'll do anything to feel something because truth is,
we feel kind of dead inside
and all we want is to feel alive.
and so we swallow pills
and we cut open our skin
in hopes of getting rid of the monsters
inside our heads that follow us every day,
even though everyone told us
they'd be stuck under our beds.
it seems like just yesterday
you were playing with dolls
and now you're writing poems about a boy who won't ever see you
the way you see him.
It's hard for any of us to realize that
in a year we won't remember
this very moment
and you won't remember how fast
your heart beat when he held your hand
for the first time
because in reality,
feelings don't last forever.
Nothing lasts forever.

my entire life is an endless cycle of apologies. i'm sorry for loving someone who i will never have a chance with. i'm sorry for being so ******* sad. i'm sorry for getting into these moods where everything anyone says makes me want to burst into tears and i'm sorry i'm such a ****** friend. i'm sorry that the reason i distance myself from people is because i genuinely believe they will be better off without me. i apologize for being such a burden. i'm sorry for all the sadness that everyone around me has to deal with because i can't seem to control it. i'm sorry for never knowing what i want and i'm sorry for hurting everyone that comes into my life. i'm sorry that at the end of the day, i feel even more worthless than i did when i woke up. i'm sorry that some days, i can't even seem to get out of bed. i'm sorry for not being able to put words together. i'm sorry that the reason i write so much is because i have so many things to say, they just never seem to leave my mouth. i'm sorry for letting him walk away. i'm sorry for giving up on myself. i'm sorry for never believing that i could be happy. i'm sorry for letting everyone down. i'm sorry for never listening to anyone. i'm sorry for always crying. i'm sorry for being so pathetic. i'm sorry for being the source of my own sadness.

they tell her to let her imagination fly
but they don't know how much her hands shake
when she thinks of his smile.
the sun always sets
but the sound of his laughter
ringing inside her mind won't.
she wants to make a home in the stars
that twinkle in the galaxy of his irises,
but she knows better than to find comfort
in someone else's body,
especially a body that she has never
had the chance to hold.
they tell her to let her imagination fly
so she keeps thinking that she will someday
make a bed inside his collarbones
and that she will spend her mornings
watching him trace the outlines of her hips
with his fingertips like she used to do
with the strings of the violin
she used to play as a child,
but no one ever told her
that you can't make homes out of human beings.
she tries to imagine a world
where the distance between them is shortened,
where she doesn't have to look at the moon
and pretend that he is looking at the same one
even though he's probably asleep
and dreaming about someone else's eyes.
they tell her to let her imagination fly
and she wants to let it skyrocket
past the ozone and land next to where he is,
on the other side of the solar system.
they tell her to let her imagination fly
and she does, but not because she wants to.
she has to make up all the words herself,
the way he smells and the way he tastes
and the way he sounds in the air.
she knows that everyone needs a place
and that it shouldn't be inside of someone else,
but imagining a world with him
is better than imagining a world where there is no love
and where everything goes wrong.
which is to say, imagining a world with him
is better than imagining a world without him.

I miss you. I'm not really sure how to breathe anymore without you here to remind me. lately my hands have been too numb to do anything other than write about you. I feel pathetic, really, because I'm sure you're off with her now and you're not even thinking of me. I feel ridiculous because I can't get you out of my head. you're making memories with someone new and soon enough I'll just be another face blurred in your mind but I don't want you to go. the thought of losing you makes me want to throw up; maybe I'm in denial because everyone knows I have already lost you.

He won't tell you he loves you. He will not look at you like you're the universe or the sun or even the smallest star in the sky. He will not show up at your doorstep at two a.m. and he won't give up his seat for you and he won't make you mix tapes. But he will stay up talking to you, making you laugh and sigh when you're almost falling asleep. He will be thousands of miles away, but whenever you feel like your lungs are filling up with smoke and you forget how to breathe and your hands get sweaty, you'll think of him and feel okay again. You'll write poems about him that he will never read and he'll listen to your favorite band and tell you how much he hates their music. He'll show you new songs to listen to and you'll love all of them. A baby bird will die in your hands and you'll never stop thinking about it. This is how he will leave you. Two years later you'll still love him even when you're no longer lonely. You'll dream about his eyes and you'll find it hard to understand how he left before he was ever really yours to hold. You'll be okay without him but you won't be happy, and that little bird won't ever leave your mind. He'll never leave your mind. He probably won't think of you because he has someone new he can hold. Someone with brighter eyes and a wider smile and whenever she asks about you, he'll smile but he will only say, "all I remember is how much she loved this really ****** band."

I'm sorry for missing you.
I'm sorry for loving you
and I'm sorry for only ever
writing about your eyes.
I'm sorry for being
such a ****** person.
I'm sorry for giving up on writing
after you left
because I didn't really know
how to feel much of anything
except for the pain of the bruises
your fingertips left
on my hips.

i want you to know
that you are still the only one
who can make my world light up with color.
i can't stop thinking of the way
your lips were always stained bright pink
and my cheeks turn red when i picture
your kisses dancing on my neck,
forming figures that i never knew existed.
i see blues and purples and greens
when i think of your fingers on me
but you're not here.
how can i miss hands
that were never on me to begin with?
how could you have made
this black and white world
start to take on color
when you're thousands of miles away?
how could you have disappeared
before i even got the chance
to see the stardust
that took home underneath your eyelids?

the only time you dream about her anymore is when you’ve drank so much you swear you can see her name at the bottom of the bottle and suddenly you’re punching your fist through the dry wall and calling out for her like maybe she’ll answer like maybe that’ll bring her back. it kind of makes you think that dreams aren’t random because you wake up thinking you can still smell her on your sheets and your chest caves in and you think maybe the part where she comes back isn’t the dream, maybe the dream is the part where she ever left in the first place. you keep looking at your hands and you can’t remember how to keep them from shaking because she always did it for you and now they aren’t shaking because you’re nervous but because her smile won’t leave your mind and every time that song comes on you have to turn it down otherwise you’ll hear her laughter again and this time you don’t think you’ll be able to survive the pain. you walk down the street and you think you can see her curly hair and her pale skin but you remember she’s gone she’s gone she’s gone but she’s never really gone because you can still taste her on your tongue every time you drink whiskey or red wine or anything, really it’s like you can’t remember anything but her. you can taste her on your lips like she’s still here with you but your fantasies are always ruined by the memory of her leaving and your arms feel empty even though she was gone before she was ever really yours to hold and you ask yourself why you can’t read books anymore you tell yourself it’s not because your eyes only see her name it’s not because every word on the page reminds you of her tell yourself the reason you don’t write anymore isn’t because all you can ever write anymore is her name stop remembering the way she held onto your hips so tightly like she was scared you were going to fly away and maybe you were but you always wanted to fly away with her but she was too fragile and the wind took her away you tried so hard to hold onto her you tried you did you did you did

the cool of the winter
does nothing to keep us from panting
and sweating,
our bodies tangled in heated kisses.
the chill of his hands
and the warmth of my hips do not divide,
they multiply and i'm sure that if the sun
and the moon could come together
to make one noise,
it would sound like his voice.
you'd think the stars in the sky
would be brighter than his smile
but even sirius can't outshine him.
his eyes are filled
with planets
that have not yet been discovered
and stars that shine
ten times brighter than the sun;
his body is a galaxy
that i'm not scared to get lost in.

They say the past is in the past. That whoever you were two years ago doesn't matter right now. Because in this moment, you're exactly who you want to be. But the truth is that even if I cut my hair up to my shoulders, change my name and move five thousand miles away, I'll still be the same little girl who's frightened by her own reflection. The last time I sliced open my own skin was over six months ago but some days, I still can't help but think of ways I could hurt myself. People do change, but there is always that small part inside of them that knows who they once were, and how capable they are of becoming that person again.

could it be
that the blood
running through
my veins is blue?
because i am not
like them i am
different
i'm in pain

i still haven't figured out the color of his eyes. when i look into them, i swear i'm staring directly at the sun because they are blinding but just warm enough to make me stay and i can't look away. his lips taste like mint and raspberries and when he smiles at me i don't know to stop my hands from trembling. he says my name so softly i stop breathing but i almost catch my breath long enough to ask him to say it again and again until it's all i can hear. i want to fall asleep to his laughter. i wouldn't compare him to anyone from my past because he is a place i have never been to and he is so intriguing i want to explore his entire being. i want to know what it feels like to have his calloused hands on me and to feel his lips pressed against my collarbones and i want to listen to him talk about his day. i want to see him get worked up when he is trying to say all of the things that he hates about himself and i want to tell him how wrong he is but i don't love him. i don't love him. i don't love him but i want to.

I won't write about how many constellations I could form with your freckles or how there are an endless collection of galaxies hidden underneath your eyelids. you see, I fell in love with the way you drank your coffee and the way you would always wake up at 4 am just so you could watch the sun come up because you always found him so ******* beautiful; I still wish you had thought of me that way. I'm still trying to get over your laughter and the way your eyes shined so brightly I was convinced I would someday go blind. it's nearly been five months but you somehow always find your way into my poems no matter how they start out. this is my way of saying I miss you. I am not angry anymore, I simply wish I would stop writing so many poems about you because they won't ever bring you back. I stay up all night thinking of you. I don't even know where you are in this world but I do know I can't reach you. it seems the stars were not aligned in our favor. maybe we were not meant to be but I can't get myself to admit that because it hurts too much. I can't wash you out of my hair and I am not sure I want to.

Today he's in love with the girl
whose eyes shine brighter than any star,
and he'll spend all his days dreaming of her.
Tomorrow it'll be the same
but just like the stars in the sky
she's too far away for him to reach.
Someone once told me
long distance relationships are hard
and I guess that's why God stays so far away.
He stays up way too late speaking to her
and when he wakes up far too early
the first thing he does is close his eyes again,
only to imagine what it would feel like
to run his fingers along her soft skin.
Every night,
he looks at how the stars are twinkling
and he's reminded of her.
He wishes he could hold her
but even if he was able to reach her,
everyone knows that the stars burn your fingertips.

IT TOOK ME SIXTEEN YEARS TO REALIZE THAT I DON'T NEED A BOY TO MAKE ME HAPPY FOR SO LONG I WAS CONVINCED THAT A PERFECT SOMEONE WOULD COME ALONG AND TELL ME I WAS STILL BEAUTIFUL DESPITE THE SCARS ON MY WRISTS BUT I NEVER TOOK THE TIME TO SEE THAT THE ONLY PERSON WHO NEEDS TO REMIND ME THAT IS ME I AM SO SICK OF BROKEN PROMISES FROM PRETTY BOYS WITH BLUE EYES AND BURNING LIPS THAT ARE ONLY EVER GOOD FOR KISSING SOME OTHER GIRL'S HIPS AND I'M TIRED OF CRYING BECAUSE MY BODY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM I'M SO ******* SICK OF HATING THE PERSON I SEE IN THE MIRROR TODAY IS THE DAY I LOVE MYSELF FLAWS AND ALL TODAY IS THE DAY I SAY ******* TO ANYONE WHO HAS EVER MADE ME FEEL LESS THAN ENOUGH BECAUSE I DON'T NEED A BOY WHEN I ALREADY HAVE MYSELF

he covers you with his body and his hands like he wants you to disappear from the rest of the world. he says he wants to keep you all to himself, that he wants to be the only one to really see all of you but you think that maybe he just wants you to be invisible. he wants to make you small, to quiet you down and keep you hidden so that you don’t have the chance to be yourself. he doesn’t understand that you were born to be as big as a galaxy, that sometimes you think your soul is too big to fit inside your own body and sometimes you need to let it out. you think about making your way to a different planet, one that’s far away from him and those hands that restrict you but you’re so vehement; you’re not sure anyone will love you and your noisiness.

Sometimes
I look at the blues and purples and pinks
when the sun is setting
and I like to think of you under the warm light,
laughing and drawing circles on my thigh with your fingertips.
The image doesn’t always last
because I remember that you’re too far away
for me to even reach for your hand
and I guess it’s unrealistic of me to think
that I could ever touch a star
that shines even brighter than the sun
but you make me believe in things like that,
you make me think that I could hold out my hand
and watch the stars bounce against my fingertips.
Everything is beginning to look like you,
I’ve started drinking my coffee black
because it reminds me of your eyes,
I can’t stop thinking about
what your voice sounds like
when you’re half asleep
and still in the moment between dream and reality.
I can’t stop hearing your mumbled “I love you’s”
or your quiet laughter.
I was always told that ordinary people
do not experience extraordinary love,
but you are so extraordinarily beautiful
and you make me feel extraordinary.
I want to be your afternoon sunlight,
your midnight moon.
I’ve never been good at telling people I need them
but the world would be so lonely without you,
and I think I’d wait until the universe collapsed in on itself
if it meant I could hold your hand in mine
without worrying that it might slip away.

i still remember the way your lips would always curl up in a smile and i hate to admit that it still makes me smile and i keep thinking about the day you'll come back to me like it's guaranteed like it's written in the script but when it comes to love nobody ever keeps their promises. the other day i told someone that i was never in love with you. that you were nothing but a faint memory, a blur hidden in my past but my voice trembled when i said it just like it always does when i tell a lie. i remember when you said that i would move on faster than you could ever try to and trust me i have tried my ******* hardest to love anyone else but it has been ten months and every time i hear your name i feel my breath catch in my throat and my vision becomes blurry and i ******* miss you. i have been trying to distract myself from you i have been pouring my heart out to people who could not care less about me i keep wishing someone else would break my heart but that would require me to still have one.

I keep rewriting this because I know it's the first time I'll write about you in weeks, and I don't think it matters how many letters I put together to spell out words that remind me of you because none of them will do you justice. You're too good for this. I want to become a better writer just so I can properly explain the color of your eyes because I want for whoever is reading this to know just how beautiful you are. I don't want to write something that isn't as good as you are. I know you probably don't think of me anymore but I sure as hell think of you and I am done apologizing for it. I'm not angry anymore but I still wish you'd come back to me. I know that one day you will or maybe I am just holding on to something that isn't really there. I'm tired of hearing your name and getting chills down my spine, tired of seeing something that reminds me of you and feeling my knees buckle beneath me. I don't want to remember you but I am scared of forgetting you.

I've always hated the beach but I've been going every week and soaking myself in salt water because I keep thinking I'll see him on the other side of the ocean. I like to watch the blues and greens beneath me and imagine it's his eyes. I look up at the sky and envision his fingertips dancing on my back like droplets, his lips running along my shoulders. Sometimes I think I can swim to him, like maybe if I held out my hand far enough I could reach him.

I wish I could say
it's not you anymore but
truth is I still miss you like hell
and I can't stop the way your name
rolls off of my tongue so perfectly
and familiarly because
you are all that I know
you are the smell of home
when I am lost and all alone
and it will always be you
*it will always be you

He says your name for the first time
and you think you've fallen in love with his mouth.
You realize he's got you wrapped around his pinky like a promise
and it sounds like his lips invented your name,
like no one had ever said it before he did.
It's all too ******* cliche
but you think his mouth is made of heaven,
his fingertips derived from the same stars
that you've tried too many times to catch
but ended up burning your own palms with instead.
He looks at you like you carved the sky with your own hands
and you laugh because you think he fell down from it.
You would think he was a fallen angel
if he wasn't so **** pure,
if you thought there was any way
that God would ever banish him from his side.
God would be lucky to have him by his side.
These days all you've been thinking about is his smile
and how you've always been afraid of ghosts
but you don't mind that he haunts you
like a lost ghost who can't find his home.
You only hope he can call you his home.
You like the way your hands feel numb
when you think of him
and you think your legs might collapse beneath you
but you don't mind.
Even if he doesn't catch you when you fall,
you don't mind.

I've told myself that I don't miss you so many times, it feels like I'm starting to believe it. That's what they always tell you to do, right? "Fake it 'til you make it, baby."
I'm trying to be gentle with my words because I don't want this to be another angry poem. I've written far too many of those and they are always about you.
It's summer now and I'm loving you in raindrops. In swimming pools and stars. The thing is, I don't remember loving anyone but you.
Maybe this has gone on for far too long. It's been nine months and more than half of that time was spent waiting for you.
Waiting for your call, waiting for you to come back, waiting for you to love me half as much as I love you.
It has always been about what you want, and when it was most convenient for you. All of this has made me more vulnerable than I ever wanted to let myself be.
I remember someone once told me that love can be a form of self harm. I always loved hurting myself which would explain why i chose you.
Love is supposed to be gentle, and joyful, not full of sorrow and tears and pain.
Baby, it's always so dark when you are gone. I keep telling myself I won't let you do this, I won't let you leave and come back whenever you want to be reminded of us, but every time you do come back, I get caught up in the moment and the way you're so good with words and I'm under your spell again.
I can't function without you, but the feeling isn't mutual. I miss you the way I promised myself I wouldn't miss anyone. But I think I'm finally done waiting.

his eyes were so bright it burned. it burned to look at him and i remember he had burn marks on his fingertips from catching too many stars. i always wanted to know what it felt like to touch his burning skin, no matter how many times i was warned about the fire inside of him that was never extinguished. the stars could have burned out years ago, but we still notice them and that's kind of like him, how his eyes have a glimpse of emptiness in them and i bet that he feels dead inside, but i'd give anything to keep looking at him.

bottles of pills shoved
down my throat could
never erase the memories
i have of you

the scars on my wrists
are just another reminder
of the times i tried to get
rid of the sound of your
laughter

i wish i could say there
was no more
but everything reminds
me of you

i burned every last letter
you wrote me
thinking it would be the
end of us

but your smell still lingers
on my white sheets no matter
how hard i try to wash it out

turns out i can never
get rid of you

you say his name out loud and you think you hear thunder but the sun is shining down on you like a spotlight. you remember the way his lips shone bright red and you think maybe this fire inside of you is only getting wilder. you think this aching feeling is only getting harder to compress and you don't know if you can stop your hands from shaking. you feel empty now that his fingertips aren't tracing paths along your collarbones and you wonder if you'll ever feel whole again.

Her lips tasted like mint and raspberries and her eyes were wild like the sea on a stormy day and her hands were always shaking but somehow her voice still sounded like wind chimes. The way their hands held onto each other tightly wasn't something to mess with. He was always hurting her but she always felt too weak to walk away from all of the love and happiness that came along with the pain. He stayed up late talking to her and she felt special even though she knew she wasn't the only one he would do that for. He knew how torn up her heart was but he wouldn't admit to all the red stains on his fingertips. He told her she did this to herself and she screamed, "LOOK AT ALL OF THIS BLOOD. LOOK AT MY CHEST. LOOK AT YOUR HANDS."

Her hair moves effortlessly in the wind
and all you want to do is touch her
but she's too far away to even reach for her hand.
You swear her smile
could cure diseases or end hurricanes
or make your heart beat out of your chest.
You imagine she tastes like sunlight,
that if you had the pleasure to touch her
you would be left with stardust
on the palms of your hands.
When you wake up,
you will be alone in the wind
and her voice will be gone.
You don't like the way the song goes
but your fingertips will be hitting
piano keys in the hopes that
the notes will fill the silence
or maybe the hole in your chest
where your heart used to be.

REMEMBER HOW IT FELT WHEN HE DUG HIS FINGERTIPS INTO YOUR HIPS UNTIL YOU COULD NO LONGER FEEL ANYTHING BUT HIS ROUGH TOUCH ON YOUR SKIN? HE WAS ALWAYS SUCH AN ADDICTIVE DRUG YO YOU. YOU COULD NEVER GET ENOUGH, KEPT GOING BACK FOR MORE. YOU WEREN'T EVEN ASHAMED OF IT. THE PROBLEM WITH THAT WAS THAT ONCE HE LEFT, YOU DIDNT KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION. YOU NEVER KNEW WHAT WITHDRAWAL FELT LIKE UNTIL HIM.

They tell me you're a monster.
They tell me you are
no good for me
and all you'll ever do is add fuel
to the fire that is burning inside of me
but you tell me that fire
is what you love about me.
You tell me it is what keeps me alive
and without it I'd be cold
and I would never
be able to keep you warm.
I tell you I will never leave you.
I will never leave you.
I will put you back together
no matter how many pieces are left
on the floor.

MY BED STILL SMELLS LIKE YOU AND **** IF I HAVEN'T TRIED SO ******* HARD TO WASH THE SMELL OUT
BUT IT WON'T FADE AWAY. MAYBE THIS IS ALL IN MY HEAD.
MAYBE YOU WERE NEVER MINE TO BEGIN WITH MAYBE IT WAS ALL JUST AN ILLUSION
MAYBE I NEED TO STOP PRETENDING THAT WHAT WE HAD WAS REAL BECAUSE I'M STARTING TO REALIZE
THAT NONE OF THIS MEANT ANYTHING TO YOU. YOU KEEP LEAVING
LIKE IT'S ALL YOU'VE EVER KNOWN HOW TO DO. DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TEACH YOU TO STAY?
IF YOU'RE GOING TO WALK AWAY AGAIN DON'T BOTHER COMING BACK. I STILL REMEMBER THE WAY YOU HAD SCARS ALL OVER YOUR FINGERTIPS FROM TOUCHING TOO MANY STARS
AND HOW THE FIRST TIME YOU TOUCHED ME ALL I FELT WAS MY SKIN BURNING.
I THINK THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I TRULY EVER FELT ANYTHING.
NOW THAT YOU'RE GONE I'M ABSOLUTELY NUMB
AND ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO PLEASE ******* STAY.