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A Jun 23
This is one of those moments you’re told will happen
When you look at your mother and tell her she was right

She always said that love finds you when you stop looking for it
I always rolled my eyes
Brushed it off
Swiped right too many times
Not looking for love exactly
Things to keep my mind occupied when the world goes to sleep
I wasn’t looking for you

I’ve always been distrustful of hands
When they reach for you without permission
When they move too close
And the way the bodies attached work their way into your space
The feeling of never quite knowing what they’re searching for
But when you asked if you could hold my hand
I let you
When you pulled my face close to kiss me
I kissed you back
And I knew that night when I got home
That it had found me

I haven't said that word in particular yet
But I can feel it living at the back of my throat
And it belongs to you
I’m so lucky
A Jun 4
Walking on eggshells but the eggshells are made of glass

Could you tell the difference between my lips and the bottles'?

I tell people I barely know that you're my soulmate

My entire vocabulary has been replaced with different ways to say I’m sorry

I keep messages from when you were happy to convince myself that it’s worth it

I can't tell if you were ever truly happy or if it was the *******

The highs and lows of drugs and *****

Maybe you couldn’t hear “no” through the drunkenly slurred love songs

Maybe you thought love meant yes, always

I've left people for the idea that you can even feel love

Can you even feel love?
Thankful for people over the years who helped me to see just how bad my situation was.

Just a mini update: I’m doing exponentially better as of late ❤️
A Sep 2018
I want you to imagine fixing a watch, all the tiny little parts
And I want you to imagine fixing a watch with broken hands
An overly involved metaphor for the idea that you can’t fix someone else when you yourself are broken

I fell in love with this image of drugs and ***** and rock and roll
And the reckless way you lived your life despite the fragility
When I found myself broken I spent years picking up shards of glass and trying to put them back together
You swallowed yours with a bottle of whiskey and marched on

I think you’ve always seen me as someone who could fix you
I’ve never been able to do that
And that’s why you come back whenever you feel like killing yourself or you’ve finally decided that you want someone to come home to that doesn’t live inside a bottle

I’m still picking up glass
I wish I could love you enough to fix you
But I won’t ever be waiting for you at home
There’s too much glass
There’s not enough time

Even if I could find a way to go back and fix that watch I can’t use it to turn back time
We’re here right now
And my hands are broken
Everything is
Old *** repost poem
A Jul 2018
You’ve dug up your roots so many times
Clawing them up from the dirt
Nails torn and fingertips bloodied
When you get where you’re going
You realize that you only have the strength
To nail the baseboards of your new life into the soft earth
Shiver at the impermanence of it all

Remember the box you buried
You left it and it’s too late to go back now
The polaroids
The memories
Your half beating heart

They’re 700 miles away and gone forever
Half of my family, my friends, my life, is hundreds of miles away. 25 moves and counting.
A Apr 2018
My hands have a mind of their own
Melt down all my doubts to fill molds of jail cell bars
Of locks with no keys
I’ve built a cage around my heart made of all the things you hate about me and the things I hate about myself
I know the weight of living is heavy love
Place it on my chest until my lungs cave in
I’ll find air in the spaces between our fingers and in the distance I’ve put between us

My minds become a road map full of roundabouts
From an aerial view you can see the loops of my neural pathways
They look a lot like “I’m sorry”
Made of dead ends and clovers and things my therapist says are out of my control
It goes around and around and around on repeat
But I’ll apologize again anyway even if it keeps you here longer than you wanted
In the maze
In the cage

Ive met people with keys
I don’t know how to ask for them
Even just for a second
This is a clusterfuck
A Feb 2018
Ask me about my past
I'll unstitch every seam
Tear everything out and lay it all on the table
A scrapbook pulled from a house fire
I'll romanticize every bruise
I'm interesting

Ask me how I've made it this far
I'll show you every "I'm fine"
How I've welded it into an armor I can't take off
I'll turn every "I wish you were never born" into the reason you fall in love with me
I'm a liar

Don't ask me who I am
I'll try to tell you something from the heart, I will
But if you close the scrapbook and look up
You'll see that there's nothing left
I'll try to be something I'm not for you

But I'm nothing
I talked to a guy recently and it seemed like he only found me interesting when he would ask about my past. Like my history was a novelty, the only thing he found attractive.
I'm more than that, I promise
A May 2017
You told him how hands on your body make you feel like you're 18 again
The word no coating you like tissue paper armor in a thunderstorm

You told him how you stayed
Because you can't accuse someone of breaking and entering if you forgot to lock all the windows

You told him how one of the last firsts you had was torn away like old wallpaper in a house you weren't ready to remodel

He let himself in one day when your guard was down
And trust grew like dandelions
Wild and uninhibited  

And it's hard to tell which hurt worse
Being broken into
Or letting him in
Allowing him to tour your wounds like a museum
And adding his work to the exhibit before leaving
None of my poems are recent. I found this on an old laptop. Enjoy.
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