I want your hands
On my waist, my neck, my shoulders, everywhere
Your eyes make me so angry
Because they lock on mine, and I am burning
You are the first person to ever
Make me do anything, like write poetry, or stop hating myself
And I just want you
Everywhere
I want your laughter
On my neck, against my cheek, hot in my ear
Your cheeky smile, it takes everything away
Like my breath, and my resolve, my patience
It is like waiting naked in the winter
Just to be burned by the sun in the spring

I am begging to know
Why those scars are so intricately laced
Upon your beautiful skin.

Because you are the first
That I have found in a very long time
Whose scars matched mine.

I keep thinking about
How you hug me and your mouth
Accidentally touches my neck.

Maybe this is because
You know it is futile to deny that we are scars
To each other -- Just not as visible
As the ones on our skin.

Last night --
You were screaming my name.
And followed me to our old history class.
A strange man was trying to teach us.
But he was crying.
And last night --
I was ignoring you.
I can't even remember the **** reason.
But you kept begging for me to look at you.
And the man kept crying.
What kind of teacher taught while he cried?
Last night --
You pounded your fists on the desk and screamed.
And eventually the man was crying so hard he left.
I was trying to tell you it will be okay.
But you didn't hear me.
And last night --
You left the room after finally giving up.
And I started crying because I remembered the man.
He was trying to teach us how to be alone.
You never came back for me.

I wish that words came easily to me
So I can tell you exactly how I feel
Because you deserve nice things like that.

You don't deserve how I ignore you
And you don't deserve my fake laughs
Because I think your jokes are boring.

You don't deserve my indifference
You are so sweet and I am just --
I am just a ******* wreck, I'm sorry.

If only poetry was like breathing
Where it would all unravel through my lungs
Then you'd know what I'm saying.

But I am a black hole while you --
You're a ******* blue star
And I'm going to really miss your light.

I have a deep ingrained fear
That I will end up like Jay Gatsby.
He waited his entire life --
Built an empire off a ferocious love --
And died in a pool he never swam in.

The girl who made too many promises
Never really cared for him in the end.
She threw money around until it cluttered --
And he was lying in a pool of his own blood --
But Daisy was the result of grief and passion anyway.

If I had a choice -- which is unlikely, nevertheless
I would beg Fitzgerald to never write me in that story.
None of the characters were actually happy --
They were all driven insane by money and alcohol --
And people call it a ******* love story.