I wanted more from you
than you were willing to give
but I can't expect action
from someone so miserably passive
even though you always had such pretty words
I remained thirsty for pretty verbs
that I knew I'd never see
but I kept hoping
and
I used to think you were my ghost
now I'm wondering if I'm more than just the host
for my own haunting
that's traumatizing and taunting my psyche
telling me I'm not worthy
all because of the actions of weak men  
that I give more power to than they deserve
once again...
and
communication without comprehension
is a deadly circle I find myself dizzying in
I could talk myself in to the ground
and think I'm breaking through to you
but it's an illusion
just like your truth
and perhaps mine too
I want to feel like I am more than a bucket list ****
I want to feel worthy, not down on my luck
and I know
I'll feel that better on my own
rather than the repetitive ******* I've been shown
the mind changes, rearranges
and I'm back to square one
boxes were never in my comfort zone
neither was being alone
I'd rather embrace my solo

I love new notebooks. I like them even more when they're filled. I love the texture of the raised paper once my letters in ink fill their pages. The satisfying rolling bumps that I created. My fingertips gliding across the paper landscape.

But it never gets bumpy. My mind strikes me down first. I need the perfect pen. When I write, I press hard, so I like a steady stream of ink. It better dry fast, or I'm  smearing it. I don't like it when it smears.

My mind works fast, I can't erase ink. Backspace backspace backspace. So, I type. But I want to fill pages. The screen isn't as satisfying and I don't have handwriting to appreciate. I hate it when my handwriting doesn't look satisfying. But typing works faster, and better with my mind. I'll throw away lists if I don't like my handwriting. I'll make drafts. Re-write. Toss. Re-write. Now I can do everything on the list. The required conditions have been met.

I'll sit down for a little bit. I start day dreaming in poetry. I remember the way light looks on your dashboard. I remember your callused fingers catching on my tights in the passenger seat. I reach for my notebook; I want to write about it.

I need the perfect pen. I'll get up and look for one.

What you think you know
You don't
Keep on disturbing your peace
Every time you think of me

Memories only I remember
You had to be there
But you were gone

Coming up empty handed
and calling me a handful

Pretty words
from a pretty face
Wrapped all up
with a slap across my face
You're just like the cement
that broke my wrist
Existing in a guise of stability
that I foolishly missed
Waiting for you to crumble
when you felt any pressure
You're smooth, but reptilious
with too much texture
You're a snake in the grass
who loves playing the victim
A liar, a fake
and you got it down to a system
Claim you're damaged goods
while aiming to inflict some
Get to therapy, please
before you get your kicks
and lose them

everything's different
but nothing has changed
just realities clashing
and life picking up the pace
I just want to see your face
but I don't want you to see mine
you'll read me too well
you'll see I'm not fine
after telling you I am
and I'm doing what I can
but I don't know how to recover from
the trust we had that was lost
I don't have the change for the cost
lend me some quarters baby
I'm a change machine
that's needing some rewiring
I don't want to need loose change anymore
I wanna be solar, baby
just need some more light on me