To sum it all up,
I don't think anyone
has been able to
understand me as well as you did -
understand me enough to know
I needed help understanding myself.
So when you left,
you left me in this trance
where I didn't know whether
to walk back or run forward.
Instead, I lit myself on fire
thinking it would be easier
to learn from scratch
than to fix broken glass.
But either way,
I came up confused with ****** hands.

gd

Scraps of paper lay around me
filled from top to bottom in black and blue ink
tracing obscure lines that manage to create syllables
and sounds and thoughts from a year ago.

And how obscure those times look now,
written from a naive mind and a hopeful heart.
They're written all over, upside down and under
just of your name turned into metaphors and adjectives.

And it's funny because the first word
I used to ever describe you was "sweetheart."
Little did I know you were nothing but
just a sour replica of a beating *****.

And it's still funny because you pulled on every single one of
my sweet-heart strings until they mimicked the choppy melody
of my breath whenever you're around, and the tension
between our eyes whenever they lock, like our lips once did.

But now, nothing but paper surrounds me in black and blue ink.
Written from top to bottom, they're worth some sort of story and
the synopsis just reads:
I loved you, I loved you, I loved you - first, foremost and possibly forever.

gd

I wrote a couple stanzas on the back of my transfer ticket
because it brought me to the same place we were 7 months ago,
except these two days contrasted each other in many ways -
similar to the whites of your eyes and the dark chocolate of your iris.

For one, spring is just beginning, which is contrary to when I saw your
smile blossom in the middle of the summer sun. The last time I stepped
foot in that transit booth I knew you were just a simple call away, but
now you're miles beyond my reach both physically and emotionally.

Shopping bags in tow, I left with tiny little trinkets full of life
(just like before) except none of them were you. Nonetheless,
I wrote a couple more stanzas and left a hook in the middle of the chorus
just so I could watch your remains fly away to fulfill its destiny:

a walking poem on the verge of tragedy.

gd

April has been making me feel like a fool,
and it's barely even started because
I see your face when you look at me
and it's the same way I looked at him.

Your eyes soften and your smiles inch upward,
but I know you feel like a fool with your
naive heart and hopeful thoughts; I'm sorry
I can't be who you want, I'm sorry
I can't say what you wish to hear, but most of all
I'm sorry that I don't feel sorry at all.

It's just too much of a risk with nothing worth the sacrifice,
which is exactly why I pushed you away
without any regret. In time, you'll see
that what you wanted could not have been me.
Selfish and Honest steer the same sails
if you look close enough at their hinges and intentions.

Then, I think back to how I looked at him
with the same soft eyes and genuine smile and
I realize he must have thought I was a fool too.
Partners in crime, but I was nothing but a punch-line.

gd