you told me that I resembled the battered, cracked baseboard
that ran along your concrete room
clearly suffering years of irrational abuse, and torment,
a foundational error maybe,
and chipped paint.

i can't say that I disagree.

but i can tell you that me and this baseboard share a lot in common

you see we both started out with a simple purpose,
sit still and do our job.
granted, my foundational friend had it slightly easier,
but only due to the that fact that you only kicked the baseboard accidentally;
in a drunken stumble or a game of indoor soccer.
I, on the other hand, was bruised and chipped away on purpose.

whether i said the wrong thing, or laughed too long, or wore the dress that you didn't like--

as if it mattered

you rattled my mangled bones with your lion heart and wanton ways,
my lips, red raw and quivering

you shook away any doubt of my worth
and smiled at the inflicted galaxies on my skin
you always saw yourself as a god

you watched the rustic liquid trickle down my thighs
from your own incisions
on my already scarred hips
and I almost felt beautiful

you ripped apart my innocence
and drowned out my screams with bad music with nasally singer and repetitive melodies

I thought I at least deserved better than ****** music

despite your absence I still sit
in concrete rooms
with cracked baseboards
and caving ceilings
because that's where I feel at home

among the broken and the abandoned,

among the walls that soaked up as many terror stories as me

among irreparable damage

and oddly enough i want to thank you
because now i have a home
within the vacancy

C: "._. I hate this"

A:"why?"

C:"It's like having to wear a coat that's several sizes too big and everyone can see how awkwardly you're standing there but you can't take off the coat because you know you'll freeze to death"

A:"hey but big coats are in fashion"
A:"it's all good"

C:"Even when the sleeves are hanging over your hands?"

A:"but it's okay bc you'd look great in that coat"

C:"But would I do that coat justice"

A:"yes"

I want the stars to whisper to me without words all the things they've seen and heard and follow me everywhere I go.

Little gossiping flickers all buzzing about my head.

When the stars are with me every step I take I'm never alone.

And if I can't see them through the fiery haze of the daylight I know they are still there, only unseen, and I'll be able to whisper endless conversations with them without uttering a single word when night falls back down like the curtains on an unrehearsed play.

I would wait through the longest melodrama like the protagonist whose soliloquy was left backstage with his courage knowing the stars are waiting to discuss all that has happened while we couldn't converse.

As they go on and on about how delightful you were at tea that day I'm so caught up in watching you sleep soundly, tucked in a blanket of black night air, that their babbling all becomes twinkling white noise.

My feet carry me toward your sleeping state on their own accord; my hands scattering the whispering stars like the brooms of cleaning housewives. I stand over you in awe and your sleeping eyes drift open to mine.

My eyes witness a new night sky flowing from yours and the existence that once held so tightly to the solid ground it found in the every-day night sky has taken flight into a new galaxy

I'm a ratty haired mess

I'm floundering in ice skates

I long for your arms

Let me hear your lies

Weigh down my cries for the sake

Of calming the storm

I am astonished

To give and not receive is

No sort of romance

The way you smiled at him is still painted on me like burn marks

The image twists itself in favor of my pessimistic mind each time it surfaces like an ugly drawn out slideshow about the progression of lost hope

-your eyes getting softer, chasing your lips-

-his hand getting closer to your hips-

If I could control everything in this world I would lose my mind but if it would ease this troubled mind I would make every decision in your favor

I sat in the drivers seat waiting

waiting for a passenger

I knew if the gear shift ever left neutral without a life worth protecting seated carefully in one of the four seats that the tiny, two door, import sports car was going to find itself unmoving for an eternity and still in fifth gear.

in a ditch, against a wall, around a tree, the first thing I would have seen once that tiny, two door, import sports car and I reached one hundred and eleven miles per hour