You deserve someone who is going to
bring you your favorite dessert at 2am
because they think you'd like some.

You deserve someone who wants to
go to your favorite places, and eat your
favorite foods, even if they might be their
least favorite things to do, or eat.

You deserve someone who wants to
look into your eyes and try to guess
what you're thinking of while you
sit on the swings in the park and
sway to the tune of your favorite
Guns N' Roses song.

You deserve someone who is so
afraid of breaking you, that they
treat you even more carefully
than they treat themselves.

You deserve to wake up in the morning
next to someone curled up under your arm,
and she will smile and kiss your shoulder
and tell you that your favorite T-shirt is
even more comfortable than she thought.

You deserve to feel secure, and loved.
To feel that, no matter where you are,
you know someone is wishing she was
holding your hand.

You deserve to close your eyes and
lose yourself in the scent of her perfume,
even if she's miles away and left it on your
pillow the night before.

You deserve to be held, and to be loved,
and to feel wanted, every morning,
and every hour.

To feel as warm as the tea she'll
make you when you're sick,
and as calm as the song
she'll sing when you've had enough.

You deserve a lot of things,
like warmth, and love,
and happiness.
And I only wish I could be the one
to make these things come true.

I learned I cannot play
the banjo and I haven't
heard of half the movies
on your shelves, but I
like the way your
voice sounds when
you tell a funny story
and how you
absently strum your
guitar and play with
my fingers at the same
time. I could have stayed
at your house for weeks.

stuck in a hollow room,
handfuls of pictures of
years, now simple past,
rain still bound, fallen,
the quietness of absence,
the eclipse of
your dissolute smile;

one day,
years ago,
I must have woken up,
and forgotten to stay in love,

or just realized,
I never really was.

i lie on my bed in a big L
and try to think about
what made me
me
stare my vanity
in the face
realize
that years
of precision makeup
layered on
like the rings on the inside
of a tree
are what made my personality
and that the varying degrees of ******
that i look like each day
dictate
my happiness
and that i am sick of
humans

every time
i am too hurt to move
or say anything
to anyone
my cat comes
and lays down on my stomach
and purrs
and looks at me
and her slitted eyes
tell me
to be ok.