One
I wrote you a love letter
Hid it in your binder at recess
And prayed you'd never know it was from me.
It hurt when you called it silly.

Two
You're behind bars because of me
I don't feel guilty
Because you tried to take my innocence.

Three
You were the one I'd spend eternity with
When I was in 8th grade.

Four
I never thought I'd love a girl
You had soft hair and lips
But I always confused envy and lust.

Five
You didn't understand my metaphors
Or the things that interested me.
I just didn't understand why you did so many drugs.

Six
Please tell me you'd like to see me again
I had a beautiful night with you
And I'm a sucker for boys who write and play guitar.

Seven
You are so handsome and you are so dull.

Eight
I'll always want you
But the butterflies that used to flutter in my heart
Are now eating it apart.

It is on rainy days that I miss you the most.
The drops splashing against my window
Echo
Echo
Echo
Through my empty aching heart.
I can still feel the imprint of your body on the left side of my bed
Where sometimes I roll into
Roll into you
And fit there the way that we so perfectly do.
Your sweatshirt embraces me
Drowns me in you
Where I'll float in your warm arms.
Oh god
I can't breathe
Missing you crashes over me like a tidal wave
Raindrops like gunshots blow holes in my serenity
I need fresh air
I need your sweatshirt off
The rain should be like icicle knives
But they're
Butterflies.
Pitter patter fluttering on my face.
Raindrops wash over my skin
Stripping away my insecurities
I feel clean.
I feel your fingers sliding over me again.
Gentle and healing
I still miss you
On this rainy Saturday.
I glance into a puddle
Oh there you are my sunshine
You're never too far away.
Your heart is always holding mine
But still it is on rainy days that I miss you the most.

Her name was Autumn
and she smelled like falling leaves
her only flaw
was that she decided to leave me
for a better life
'cause everyone knows
this town will take you under
like high tide
and I tried
to save us
but when you're drowning
you don't swim deeper

the poetry of youth is almost masturbatory
the stroking of an ego
pulsing thick down your throats
i do not know
what you see in my crude writings
they are nothing
to the wisdom of age
there is no skill here
merely habit