you stole my choice twice.
first when you pried it
from my shaking hands.
second when you polluted my brain
to believe every man is like you.

i couldn’t love him even if i wanted to.
all thanks to you.

BEFORE
a belt was a belt,
a peanut butter milkshake only that,
a golden car was
nothing more than meets the eye.

AFTER
you became a leather belt,
a peanut butter milkshake,
every golden car,
a **** flashback that i want to spit out.

my parents never loved each other and they never really even loved me. i never saw people happy or in love. so imagine my surprise when you waited. you made me feel special, normal, not like i owed you things. you knew i went through it all by the age of sixteen. you knew how bad the scars itched sometimes. you stayed up with me on the phone reassuring me, you held me on your chest when you could. you did more than you needed to. you never asked for anything in return. don’t get me wrong, we both know things have not always been easy. we both have our helping of insecurity and affliction, among other things. still, every other person i thought i loved filled me up with dread and quite often. their tears were overwhelming, their anxieties were too much, and they didn’t know how to console me, anyone, even themselves. they didn’t believe in growth. your tears on my cheek feel like summer raindrops. i held you till you stopped crying. you told me you can’t bear to hear people speak nice things about you- so i wrote it on a note and put it in your bag. i hope you found it. i am glad you found me. i am glad you waited. i am glad you’ve shown me what love is really like. even if i don’t believe you sometimes, i know you love me.

he tells me he is afraid
to touch me
i cant help but think
all he sees is a crime scene
or someone else’s victim
when he looks at my skin

you ask me if i love you.
so i say
“i feel like i do.”
but sometimes my feelings lie to me
and i don’t want to do that to you.

there are times
i want to take a picture of you
doing nothing in particular,
beautifully.
in a second, the moment is gone
and i don’t remember
what you were doing,
but i remember what it felt like
to see you do it.

although tomorrow is
not promised,
we must live as if
we will see it.
otherwise when it comes
we are stranded-
halfway house,
numbered days.