each time I can’t get you off my mind
I remember you can’t get me off at all
sometimes I want you to know that I
intentionally drove to your house that day
I wanted you to hate me as much as I hate you
and you still take depression naps
and I still take all of the side streets
now I have a new sense of purpose
and you have a car payment

I feel so alone but so held at the same time
as if it’s the moon that’s trying to talk to me
why have I always had pivotal moments
while staring directly at telephone wires?
to this day I’ve lived six different lives
and I have no plans to stop evolving
coins still fall from parts of me wherever I go
it never had anything to do with you at all

if you go at someone else’s pace it shows you care
which is ******* insightful and I learned it from ***
I remember the smell of your mother’s house anytime
I’m clean so I stopped showering and doing dishes
my roommate rolls her eyes each time but I’m
just as ***** as I’ve always wanted to be
I rarely ever miss you and when I do it’s fleeting
I keep having dreams where my hair is to my knees
I know how to stand up straight and
you’re still just as small as I left you

you look at the bartender vacantly and
order a double Jameson shot
because you hate everything about yourself
I know this because I watch
but only to see the glass shatter

the bathroom of this bar smells like our love -
me, dressing in clothes that are easy to get off
tile that is stained with bile, cascade hops
a continuously leaking toilet and bright red walls

having my heart broken feels romantic, inherently, like
mourning, pleading, missing
it’s all just flirtation, ****** frustration
this is foreplay, these nights alone

I smell like **** and *** (same thing) showering
alone I noticed the age in his eyes, in his skin
in the way he scolded me, in the color of his teeth
and how I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say my name

there is nothing more ****** than the dial of a phone
there is nothing more enticing than two truths and a lie
I’m the most I’ll ever be the minutes after I come

I drive a different way home so
that I don’t have to see your face
I have a zero tolerance policy for
mourning these days and that’s ok
you make the same face when you’re
in pain that you do when you ***
I’ve forgotten what it feels like by now

and okay, so maybe you cheated on me
in this exact bar bathroom once
and okay, maybe I am ****** projecting
because that girl still talks **** about me
and I see myself as she does for a moment
and maybe it never actually has
absolutely anything to do with you! at all!
maybe that means you never mattered!
and maybe it smells like B/O and for
some reason that makes me nostalgic
nostalgic for times where i’d plug my nose
and still be able to find the smell
maybe we just ran out of things to say to each other
and maybe this time I’ll let that be enough

there’s a band playing and I feel happy
I park at Edith’s and walk through a no
outlet that I’ve never noticed before
I know where he takes them on his little dates
and sometimes I end up there too
but I swear it’s always organically
I hope you know I’d spit on the grave of my
boss who fired me without cause
I might ask the three year old to say ****
but I can’t fathom being so unjust

I’m going to figure out how to
pick up my instruments again
and that includes my ability to
open my mouth and speak
I’m going to stop expecting the worst
I might not remember what it feels like
but I do know that my taste buds work

It’s been sitting inside of my chest like TV static
for what feels like a lot longer than seven days
I’m picking at my skin because it keeps my hands busy!
I’m chewing on my cheek because it keeps my mouth busy!
I spend my time missing you because it keeps the rest of me busy!
the dull aches of solitude, of emptiness
have been weighing heavy on my shoulders
in the silence, in 2 pm’s with nothing to do
in menthol cigarettes to try to smoke less ****
in bar culture
and every room
and crevice
and person inside of my mother’s home
my cries used to fill my studio apartment
to the very last inch of its 200th square foot
I’m sorry that I tried to call you
I know you hate that
I don’t think you want to talk to me
It’s been sitting inside of my chest on repeat
ringing for what feels like weeks
I’ve slept with the TV on with nothing
playing for the past seven nights
because it makes me feel less alone

an old man with Alzheimers and a panic button
on his watch walks into the bar slowly
the bartender leans in, drops a napkin, presses the button
and looks the man in the eyes as he orders a diet pepsi
The man’s eyes shift every two seconds-
from the TV, to the bartender
to his watch, to his hands
to the TV, to the door
to his watch, to his hands
for seven minutes, record timing on her part-
an older woman in running shoes and a
visor rushes to his side
and whispers in his ear that he isn’t supposed to leave
she tries to pay, the bartender says no
they leave together hastily
she is ashamed, every time
but he is only confused

If I was a coffee drinker
I’d balance your body like a rosetta
I’d kiss your cheek with my
Colombian coffee breath
the flavor of our love like
your crema on my tongue-
notes of rich chocolate evenings
and salty, very salty
your bitterness like the very first time
notes of my coffee cherry-
no, your coffee cherry
the aftertaste like high acidity
your complexity gets lost on
my caffeine intolerance
but I still feel your finish
each time I swallow
I still find notes of you,
cupping me

I.

My roommates dog licks, it’s just what he does. He lays on my floor and licks his paw until there’s a puddle of saliva and residue dog food on my pink Ikea rug I bought for fifteen dollars. Do details make it worth it? Or what does? It’s April and my roommate doesn’t groom him so his hair is completely covering my new maroon satin sheets I bought at a thrift store for four dollars, all clumped on my bed, just like I am in this exact moment. I have no details to offer about what is going on inside of my head, I only know I want to break my bones over and over again until they are better. Until they can offer more, or less, or just take me from point A to point B without the faint sound of crunching anytime I feel something.

II.

I’m not sure if it’s valid, rational, real or not but I felt it so I’m going to say it out loud anyway. I get here each and every time I don’t take my antidepressants, but I got too drunk and puked for 24 hours so there was no chance I was going to be able to down the one and only thing that makes my bones stick together. I’d say I should drink less but I don’t believe I’m capable of making it into a problem, I’m too busy exaggerating my position in all of these people's lives and breaking my own heart when I realize I stand for so much less. It’s usually my fault, I know that. We interacted for 25 seconds outside of a bar we once ****** at before they retreated off to the better, cooler, stronger-***** people I can only manage to feel contempt towards. It’s exactly how it should have gone, everybody tells me at least, I disagree, but it still made my spine curve. I talk like this because I’m completely out of serotonin.

III.

I write about *** a whole lot because I think it’s one of the few worthwhile things in this stupid ******* world. I’m only on this planet still for human interaction, which is why it’s absolutely terror inducing to be alone, but these days words have gotten me nowhere so I guess I’m content using my body instead. If there are no humans left to connect with, does that mean I’ve hit my expiration date? I worry nobody will make it worth it but that goes back to me putting my happiness into other people and I remember I still have to find a way to make these bones better, more capable and durable. I want an independent skeleton and to wake up without feeling the need to check the time. I’m not sure if there is a single person in this world I feel able to be myself around completely and I know that is my fault, too.

IV.

We can discuss the dynamics of the word “deserve”. I deserve more than this, you deserve peace and quiet and a world unmatched, I deserve an explanation, a cover up, a new start; all of these with such force the word starts to feel empty. Like drinking tap water. I remember reading in a poem somewhere about how many months, years, sacrifices it takes to be able to deserve to own another person's choices. Truthfully, we never actually deserve anything from one another. The only thing I am worthy of is these brittle bones. The only thing I have to offer is a constant worry in my chest that I am unsafe. I look around me and feel terrified of the world outside- the wind, where does it come from? These people, how are they doing it? What person woke up one day and decided life would be worth it, that we could create a civilization and a planet to make home for absolutely no reason or purpose and throw billions of people into it as well? I’ve been saying this life is a job I am not cut out for since I was 14. Even the items on the shelf right in front of my hands are hard to grab sometimes and I feel like I should start doing stretches in this supermarket but I am too exhausted. I am too exhausted spending my time trying to get to know who this person is that I am, this body I inhabit, this mind that is unfortunately the only one I have until I can figure out if reincarnation is real, or just something I tell myself to feel better about the bones I’m stuck with. I deserve new bones, right? I deserve more than this, right?

V.

Maybe it’s clockwork; mine and his and her hair on my bed, the dog panting to my left probably out of boredom because he has absolutely nothing to do, getting drunk and puking in the mens bathroom, not talking to them for three days, my perfume and deodorant and body wash all being rose flavored and the knowledge that this is just who I am inherently and the constant fear that that means I’ll never be able to grow out of it. I hammer my hand to see blood, I look at the bruises down my leg and on my chest, I wonder if I don’t take my antidepressants for seven days if I’ll have the courage to test my theory. Probably not, death is terrifying, but I’ll still try to call you and get ignored and I’ll ponder what I ever did to deserve such treatment. Am I too available? Yes, consistently. Am I too much, too loud, do I take up too much space and say the things nobody really needs to say? Yes, yesterday I called my boss an alcoholic and he laughed but nobody else did. Everybody else gave me those eyes that everyone gives me whenever I open my mouth, the eyes that make me feel like my skin has managed to come unglued and everybody is seeing my weak, frail bones I repeatedly break, I repeatedly try to heal, and gawking at my efforts. I put myself out there too much, too. I say I miss you when it doesn’t need to be said, I feel love when it has no business being felt. I crave my antidepressants that I still haven’t taken.


VI.

You say words for shock value and that makes you no better than any ****** white guy but I exaggerate how many girls I’ve slept with to anybody who cares to ask so I guess that means I’m the same as you.

VII.