In dreams, you reach out to me like you used to and you say my name the way you promised.
Waking up is starting to hurt.
I'm trying hard to be the right kind of patient but I don't know if what I'm waiting for is still worth waiting for.
I'll wait,  anyway.
I don't know where I am going with this.
I swore I wouldn't write about you again, and I did.

You are my personal taste of sorbet, sun-tan lotion, botched
slices of the sun that sit on my tongue like pills
before I swallow. I hate necessity, and crave your entity
in ice cream scoop sizes. I want to pull the batteries out of your back,
**** the juice onto my palette and spit it back into your eyes
so maybe you can feel the sting you left me with when you pushed
my heart off the side of the bed while pulling your pelvis closer to my head.
I hate when we’re cooking and you slide ice cubes down my shirt,
but did you know that’s the only time I ever felt anything
from you that wasn’t warm and bitter and bruised? I think
that sometimes your nightmares even scare me.
I can feel them when you sleep,
your arm flinching beneath my neck, how you curl
your toes against my calves and grind your teeth like you’re trying to fit
your square memories into the oval-shaped hole of my spine.
I get that that’s why you’re a little crooked, but you used me
to straighten yourself like the post a tomato plant wraps its stem around.
You took all the nutrients from my center and fed yourself.
You are the palm tree in my snow globe, but no matter
many times I shake you
the snow still falls on my shoulders.

It's around midnight
My feet kiss the cold, hard floor
I should have worn socks

the silence that followed
after we kissed
was just as loud
as the beating in my chest;
i didnt know
a heart could beat this loud

I noticed how short your nails were
and that you tried to brush out the cow licks in your hair
and I noticed how you grind your teeth when you dream
and how you would jump at the slightest sound
and I noticed that your favorite colors were blue and black and green.

but you only noticed how pink my lips were
and you only noticed how soft my knees were
and you only noticed how I would give you anything if you didn't ask
and you only noticed what you wanted to know and not what you wanted to wonder

but i wonder if you felt the scars on my thighs as you slid your hand passed them
and i wonder if you heard the nervous chuckles when i came up for air
and i wonder if you remember that my eyes are blue and green and my heart is black and i wanted to be your favorite because parts of me are broken and i wanted you to wonder why.

sometimes I wish I was blind because then I could never see what other people thought of me and all I would hear is the lies they feed my through their mouths. I wish I was blind so that I wouldn’t have go see their hesitant faces show unspoken word about how they really feel. I wish I was bind because I would see the real beauty in people: the invisible kind. I wish I was blind so that I would take more time to listen. I wish I was blind so that I could feel rather and see if I look good. I wish I was blind so that I wouldn’t have to compare myself to everyone else. I wish I was blind because I could match the darkness inside my head with my sight.

I use the words "depressed" and "sad" interchangeably because there's something about the innocence of the word 'sad' that makes people listen