this is all a diary—-

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop writing to you.

Sometimes I hate everything about you.

I want to ask you questions that you’re not going to want to answer. I miss the parts of you that you’re hiding away. There’s a guy that is rocking back and forth to our left and you show me him with your eyes; I want to trust you more than anything in this world.
Do you think of her? Do you miss her? Have you spoke? I’m scared I don’t believe you.
I drink wine now, I loathe this day. My skin is itchy and I miss the way your cheek feels against mine, you’ve never felt this far and one time I slept away from you for a full month-
Is this right? Is this real?
I miss your skin. I miss feeling connected with you, I miss being able to feel secure. I miss when I saw your hands move and didn’t wonder about her, I miss the purity, the simple,
I never was supposed to like the taste of wine. The guy is rocking. The guy is rocking.

you’re holding a phone to the mirror about a foot away, the camera focused with you directly centered. your best friend talks about something or something or somewhere or someone she’s doing and you can’t help but feel like you’re behind. you ARE behind. ****** catch up.

you snap a phew photos and zoom in a bit so the photo looks more grainy. you go to work and cuff your jeans and walk without picking up your boots. you tell the girl who wants to be your friend that you can’t get a beer after work because you’re feeling like you want to get out of this space and that’s .... okay. you put your phone in your back pocket and you open up the door. you go outside.

you remember walking down a steep set of stairs in another state you haven’t visited since 2014. you remember the god awful shirt he was wearing, you remember his room smelling like **** and your body feeling so out of place. you kept your cool for twenty or so minutes. when you retell the story you like to make it seem like you ran out in a hurry but in actuality you waited a bit wondering why he didn’t kiss you. you really, really didn’t want him to, but he didn’t try.

your phone ends up back in your hand and you’re scrolling thru life sized images at an alarmingly fast rate. it beeps it buzzes. you plug it in because it’s dying. so are you. so am I

better elsewhere
better off elsewhere
better
better today
better tomorrow
better three Thursday’s from now
pull me closer, please
pull me as close as you can manage
pull me as close as you can and then
I never want to see you again
don’t touch me, don’t look at me
I want nothing to do with you
I think you’re pathetic, to be honest
I think I’m light years above you
get the **** out of my face
get the **** out of my way
I’m better than this
better today
better tomorrow
better three Thursdays from now
I hope one day, too

It’s been sunny for what feels like years and my skin is begging for moisture. I only want to talk in hyperbole but I’m afraid of not making sense, I miss the times I spent alone. I miss myself, I miss knowing who I am. I’m afraid of time with my mind, I’m afraid of what I would have to face. It once rained for weeks and I felt the most confident then.

I’m not sure I have anything to say but it’s been weeks since I’ve written and I really need to ground myself into something other than this. I’d rather scream out into the void, talk in third persons or pretend there’s someone else listening than be so afraid. You think I’m weak but I’m not. I hate that you think you know me when you couldn't be further away -/

It’s getting colder out and I’m really excited to have less of my own time soon, I say that but it’ll probably get really old not being able to go out and do whatever I want whenever I want, although I am pretty sick of the smell of cascade hops on your breath as you tell me something about some thing about something-
I wonder if I’ll ever be in a relationship where I don’t have to sneak into the bathroom to *******.
Tomorrow marks a year of my life I’ve spent with you.
The air is getting colder and I wonder exactly how much ******* in my life I’ve romanticized. I thought about you cheating on me right when I was about to finish and it didn’t even completely ruin it for me, maybe I could turn it into a good thing. A year ago exactly you slapped me and then came, now you’ve got me flat out on the ground and you’re walking and stomping all over me instead.
I do in fact get to write an angry poem. I get to sit in my little corner and write some words nobody will ever read.
I wonder if I’ll always be laying on the bathroom floor making myself come.
I imagine each of the bathrooms-
The one on 5th street, my apartment but I guess she called it hers too, always with the light off and in the shower because I was ashamed.
A handful of times in the one on the north side, usually light on because I was home alone. The shower was running just in case. Door locked.
This one- with stains of my love leaking out each corner I turn,
my towel on the rack and my thong on the floor and our single tooth brush in the cup.
my soap in the shower and my makeup stains on the mirror and the time I got up and locked your bathroom window because your friend got robbed that way and you were scared and I wanted to make you feel safe in your home.
I’d love to leave this city. I’d love to go somewhere where the weather isn’t so bad, it really affects my moods in so many ways. I’d like to be a little bit shorter, too, smaller in general. I want to take up less space. I want to blend in but whenever I open my mouth it's always me asking to stand out.
I love you today as I did then.