I thought you liked me
As a friend
And nothing more
Which killed me.

But I liked you
As so much more.
As more than a friend.
As that guy
Who would tie my shoes
And open my doors
And kiss my forehead.

As that guy who
Texts first in the morning
And last at night.

I loved you.

And now I know,
You will open my doors
And tie my shoes
And kiss my forehead.

And text me all day,
Not just in the morning
Or night.

Because you don't like me as a friend.
You like me as so much more.

And that gives me life.

That's where he's been hanging around lately.
I hear their coffee is decent.
Half and half, a spoonful of sugar, and a dash of shameful regret.
He orders his eggs over easy with a side of fresh apologies.
The scratchy booth seat squeaks merciless obscenities at him
as he shifts uncomfortably
because of his aching back and aching conscience.
If I were to pass by him at a diner, I doubt I would even recognize him.
Guilt tends to deform the appearance, and derange the soul.

every ounce, raw
legs ******* necks
authentic because this time history
didn’t exist
or the future
just timelessness, innocence and lots of kissing
unexpected like car crashes and so familiar like eggs in the morning
like the feeling of not sleeping in your own bed for a few days and then getting to again
relief, in a way
and sighs
but mostly raw
with passion that draped over us like a canopy of red roses and white silky fabrics
I think that might have been the most connected we’ve ever been
I think that’s because we aren’t attached to each other in any way, anymore
real,
raw,
exactly the same
completely new
everything is all over the place and as condensed as an aerosol can of hairspray
at the same time;
my hair grew
your face thinned
and we are in exactly the same place

you think i don't know
         how much
         you want
             to be
            small
              thin
              (air)

oh, ­                   darling
but                     i do
i        want         you
(almost)          (nearly)
just as              much

              i
            want
            you
           with
           all the
           fibers
           of my
           bones

you                       say
you  want             to  
be        pretty  for me    
be                     skinny          
for me           strong
for                        me

i                        sa­w        
you  waste      away
from      flesh     to  
skin          to bones
to air         then no-
thing             at all

i want you to feel
ha-
ppy
but you aren't happy
till
you
aren't you anymore

i begged you to stop
but you               just
brushed           me  off
you were too far in
and              too far
gone           a hopeless
case               of sorts

i want
big, doe eyes
     that you can't take seriously
even when i'm yelling at you
          face red, voice scratchy
at 3am
                      to leave.

i want
soft, wispy hair
       that you'd twirl round and round
telling me you *love me, i'm your baby &
                     eyes red, voice low
at 3am
                           i'd tell you the same.

i want
a nose only fit for pleasance
        that'd allow me to enjoy the roses
you brought to apologize for coming home late
                               hair up, voice hushed
at 3am
                            and not the alcohol on your breath.

i want
featherweight skin
        so when you pull me by your side
there is only a thin layer of cells between our hearts
                            noses turned, voices unheard
at 3am
                               i hug you closer.

i want
a burning ambition to make things work
        that would keep this alive
whatever this may be
                    skin tight, voices livid
at 3am
                    waking up the neighbors.

i want
to be 80 pounds again
         so you would carry me back
when i fall asleep in the car, hand clasped with yours
                             mind on hold, your sweet lullaby
at 3am
                                sending me back to sleep.

oh,
         i'm not trying to be perfect
i just want you to stick around a little longer
                      deep down
i know i can change
                      but the problem is you

lets just cuddle up
for years and years
and let people call it
"forever"

why is it that
the last weeks feel the longest
the days
the h o u r s
the m  i  n  u  t  e  s
the clock slows
the stress grows
and my biggest enemies
are those who control my future

I knew a girl who would write sadness across her arms,
along her waist,
down her thighs,
and out through her toes
in hopes that one day,
she too would be free.