our palms and shins hit the floor, hard
the sound of our bones hitting the wood
echoes and your face shows the pain
you look at me, I look at you
a bandaid, yes, no, an ice pack
our spines and tailbones hit the grass, hard
the sound of our nervous whispers and
the lighter flickers through the night
your face shows your nerves
you look at me and unfold
I start to spiral out of control
but I attempt to keep my cool
I'm wearing 4 layers you'd think it
wouldn't be this hard but hey, it usually is
our lips hit eachother, hard
and then my lips hit your neck
and your lips hit my shoulder
and my shoulder hits your stomach
and your stomach touches mine
the sound of your breathing,
my breathing, sighs, sheets, skin on skin
you're whispering my name so quietly
my ear comes off and stretch out to your
mouth so they can hear more of you
our backs hit the bed, hard
and now you're on top of me
the sounds of the last time we fell fill
the air and you say something about
finally and I say something about don't
jinx this and we both shutup
and listen to the moment
the sound of the moment finds its way
through your bedroom door and sits on
the chair next to your queen size mattress
our heads and our hearts fall out of our
bodies and find their way to
each other on the cold tile floor
the sound of desperate crawling
fills the room and we look at each other
confused
time will never, ever be on your side, you said
no amount of luck or stitches could save me now
my hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes
one day
everything's going to be okay
one day
it will be okay

"what does she have that i dont?"
I imagined asking, I imagined calling hours after the fact and letting you hear me squirm out muffled cries,
the grey area between please, please no and thank you for doing this now

"what does she have that I don't?"
I imagined asking, I imagined calling and begging you to give me a better reason why I wasn't enough to show you that you deserve so, so much better, that you deserve to not be a wreck, but I stopped.

"what does she have that I dont?"
I realized, in that inexplicable grey area between want and loss, there is one and only one thing she has that I never will,

you

I'm going to be okay, if it's the last thing I ******* do, I'm going to find a way to be okay. I can't keep on.

i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough
i'll never be good enough  
i'll never be good enough
...
never be (good) enough
never be (good) enough
never be (good) enough
never be (good) enough
never be (good) enough
never be GOOD enough
never be GOOD enough
never be GOOD enough
never be GOOD enough

i'm embarrassed that i still love you
i'm embarrassed that i still love you
i'm embarrassed that i still love you
i'm embarrassed that i still love you
i'm embarrassed that i still love you

i'm embarrassed that i still love you


i'm embarrassed that i still love you



i'm embarrassed that i still love you

my sister overheard you saying that your car broke down
so now she drives you to and from work
yesterday when I went into work you were
standing and I noticed you got a haircut.

this is what happens when you lose a person
you no longer know about the little things

look at me.
look right THROUGH me.
I'm focusing on all of the wrong things and I'm putting all my effort into them, the wrong things, all my time money energy patience into them (the wrong things) and at the end of the day I am exhausted and have nothing left for the right things and that makes it all my fault. everything.

look at me.
tell me that when you see me now all you see is the color of my lipstick wiped onto napkins at the top of your trash can and my mascara all over your pillow- or, well, my pillow, the pillow of yours that I used, and tell me that you still haven't washed the pillowcase or even moved the pillow, that you sleep in a weird S shape to avoid bumping into the pillow (as if I'm still there), and tell me how you were brushing your teeth and she was sitting at your desk and you saw the napkins and you just stood there, you left the water running so she didn't know you were done, and you stood there and watched the napkins. you watched, and you remembered my face with the mascara streaming down and you remembered me trying to yell but not being able to stop my voice from cracking, and you remembered the look in my eye when I gave you up.

LOOK at me.
tell me that if you lost me it'd be like losing your right ******* arm, it'd be like losing your car keys and having to be at work in an hour or maybe like locking your keys inside of your car and slamming your head against the window because at the end of the day this is all your own fault. I'll tell you that I like being your passenger seat and you won't understand but I will, and our song will come on and I'll forget about the napkins for a second and that ******* pillow that needs to be washed and let myself just, stop. let myself stop, let myself focus on the wrong things for a few more days because the right things are a lot of work and I'm not sure how to motivate myself if the outcome isn't positive and immediate.
but, well..

look at me.
I'm trying, right?
I'm doing something right. because tonight when you walked passed me and didn't say a word to me I got teary eyed and locked myself in another room just to take a breath and realize that I don't even want you anymore. so who cares. I cried, I wiped my face with a napkin, I threw it away, you're the one standing and staring at the crumpled and wet remains of what we were and what happened to us, not me. not anymore at least.

look through me
and tell me again that you aren't sure if I was ever really happy with you. know that you're right, I wasn't, but believe me when I say I tried, and I tried, and I tried some more, but at the end of every day you still only left me raw.
so I gave up on you.

that weather changes. I know, I know that's common sense or it should be, but when you're under a roof that you've always felt safe in things like that don't just click, so now it's getting cold outside and I have shorts that cover my belly button and shorts that, well, don't. that you can sit in coffee shops 3 times a week and feel FINE! she's right, you don't love her anymore, but it's FINE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

that there's an 100% chance you'll get sick of writing about your own experiences and it'll take everything inside you to convince yourself that there will be someone who doesn't get sick of reading about them. like okay another poem about the time I ran away and got on a plane and broke up with her and realized **** I can do just FINE! all by myself, awesome good job my hands are typing the same stuff over and over and it ***** cause now they're bored? they don't care that this is a different city and you probably don't either. I'm finally leaving him! no one cares. except me, really, but I don't. I'm over it.

that decisions don't get any easier as time goes on because one second I'm like oh yeah let's turn left and then I read robert frost and think of the road less traveled and I'm like wait? which ones less traveled? what am I actually supposed to do with any of this?

that getting a medium instead of a large $5 coffee doesn't stop you from being ******* STUPID for wasting money when you're TECHNICALLY HOMELESS.
that you're toing to be TECHNICALLY HOMELESS.
but what the **** is a home? 'cause I remember one time I wrote that your smell and smile was more of a home than any house I ever lived in blah blah disgusting but last week when you looked at me and said some dumb ******* that I don't even care enough anymore to write about, I just wanted to go back and lie in bed until I get all these months back. because they were a WASTE.
that it's going to be different. you'll settle and then something will change and you'll miss it and you're a really very nostalgic person in general so you tend to look back on things but
that looking back on things is NOT a good idea. you're just going to get sad and want to lie in bed, but you're technically homeless so that ******* *****, sit your *** on that couch and shut up.
that one day, you're going to have to man up. and you think you've man-ed up and you're flexing and **** and you're ready to rip it to shreds, but nah. you're giving yourself too much credit. I'll see it when I believe it, just like everyone else.
that getting drunk off shots that your brothers girlfriend, who happens to be a bartender at that new-ish bar downtown, keeps handing you won't make ANY of it easier, you'll just laugh and drink the pineapple upside down cake shot and like really like how it tastes? so you'll drink three more and go to walk home and she'll hug you goodbye and make sure you're staying in this city for longer than you did last time (aka 16 years) and then you'll laugh and say bye and thank her for not ID'ing you because you've still got 4 years til that's legal and GUESS WHAT. NONE OF IT WILL BE EASIER. you'll just go home and lie on your god forsaken couch and worry about what the **** is next? and what do you do now? and then you'll try really hard not to make the same mistakes again and to stop your dumb lonely brain from going off on itself again and you'll listen to music until you fall asleep at 4 in the morning and you'll be like, ah..... the **** that they don't tell you but probably should before you get on a plane at 5 in the morning and run away from the people you've spent 16 years imagining running away from, but the city is cold now and they're angry at me and won't ship me any warm clothes..........ahhhhh.....serious **** man