For Elijah
Who saw me as just another teenage girl
Whom he thought he could fix
After he unknowingly broke me

For Luke
Who was always too sweet to me
And didn't tell me until a year and a half later
That he only saw me as a sister

For Eric 1
Who shared his music with me
And started dating M
Before I could tell him

For Rusty
Who stabbed me in the back
With help from F
When neither of them were aware that they were holding knives

For Eric 2
Who reminded me of Rusty
And maybe that's the only reason
But who respected me without hesitation

For Cam
Who has a reputation of being nice
Who is problematic at times
And can't seem to leave my head

In all honesty I've never been good with words. I never knew what to respond after the doctor would ask me what hurt, or what to tell my mother after I saw her cry when my dad left. Poetry is placing words in all the wrong places in order to build something right. Poetry is taking apart the puzzle and forcing the pieces into spaces they don't fit. I tried to write you a letter to tell you that I miss you, the problem with poetry is that there's no metaphor that makes this emptiness inside my chest any more beautiful. There's no personification real enough to make my sheets feel like you're laying in them. There's no simile literal enough to make my heart feel as though its healing. I wish I could place these words on my tongue and roll them out for you to hear, but since I've last kissed you I can't even find the motivation to part my lips. I always find myself questioning why I keep writing; because the problem with my poems is that you're never the one reading them.