It's nearly three am
and I told myself I wouldn't do this,
I said I wouldn't wait for the sunrise to cue my sleep
and yet here I am again,  
the darkness under my eyes
nearly as defined as the coffee rings on my dresser.

I never used to drink black coffee,
my body had craved the sugar, begged for the sweetness  
but after all of our afternoons in that coffee shop,
after all the nights where I drank nothing but you,
I found myself more and more okay with the taste,
I found myself needing less and less sweetness to satisfy my tongue.

It was only after you left did I realize I had come to enjoy black coffee,
I had grown accustomed to the bitterness and dreaded the sweetness.

It was only after you left did I realize you had taken all the sweetness with you.

If you think you're getting another chance
I suggest you turn around,
and leave.

You spew ******* about caring about me,
about wanting to listen,
wanting to be there

But when I needed someone these past few months
you were no where to be found,
and I was utterly alone.

Sometimes I wish I could give you a second chance,
but I'm known for being stubborn,
so dreadfully stubborn

And of course I've managed to hold onto
the smallest hint of self-respect
so tell me why --

Why would I knowingly endanger myself again
by letting you back into my life?
Can you answer that?

No?

I didn't think so.

I got closure last night.
Which is something I've never gotten
in the few years of my life
and while it may seem
like a small feat to many,
it means the absolute world to me.

I said what I felt even though
the words struggled to come out.
I choked back tears
and poured my soul out.
I took words that should have destroyed me
and instead patched up the *** holes
that had rooted in my heart.

I knew it would be hard,
I knew it would be painful,
I knew it wouldn't be anything
I wanted to hear.
Which is why it was everything
I needed to hear.

And to be told for the second time
that you were never loved
by the one person you told yourself you loved,
well it should be enough to **** you,
to leave you apathetic and filled with unending hatred
towards the universe's obvious spite with your existence
but instead, I am proud of myself.

I am proud because I took it as a confirmation,
I took it as the final step to moving on,
I took it as the answer that had for so long evaded me.

I know it's a small feat for many, but it meant the world to me.

Science says your pupils dilate
when something of interest
enters your field of vision.

I suppose that makes sense,
because when I see you
everything else disappears.

You're the only thing there
and I'm sure my eyes widen
because they want to take you in.

Everything from the curve of your lips
to the lingering gaze of your eyes,
I have to have it all.

And when you walk away,
I know my eyes must constrict--
suddenly the world is smaller.

There are too many nights when your name
still finds its way into my bed,
crawling through the sheets
and into the cracks of my tattered heart.

Sometimes it can be comforting,
memories of the better days—but usually,
usually it’s the abrupt ending
that deepens my self loathing
and keeps me from sleeping.

After all this time, you’d think I’d hate you,
despise your existence for all the pain you’ve caused me
but I can’t help this stupid heart of mine
from doing anything but loving you.

I miss it. I miss us. I miss you.
And it’s killing me.

I think about the nights we used to stay up talking
and the nights we’d joke about the future
and the life we were going to have together
and it all seems like some bizarre dream nowadays;
it’s becoming harder and harder
to remind myself that these things happened,
that my love for you was justified
even if the way you treated me wasn’t.

They story of you and I has become a tired tune,
no one will listen to it anymore so I’ve locked it away,
away in the darkest parts of my memory.

It’s going to be a long time before I can think of you
and appreciate the happiness, without breaking from the sadness.

I’m sorry.

We learned the other day that sometimes
when you try to push against a force
that's too strong to move, your body fights
but regardless of how hard it fights
you have a threshold that you cannot breach
and after some time it simply becomes you
pushing against this immovable force and
you realize that this stagnant entity in your life
has absolutely no intention of letting you win
this one sided battle you unknowingly enrolled in
and it strikes you one day that while the only thing left to do
would be to give up: you won't.

Not because you don't want to
but rather because you can't.

Months ago, I used to apply makeup
for the sole purpose of feeling beautiful,
part of me adored the curve in my eyeliner
or the red in my lipstick; it made me confident,
it made me feel like my smile was brighter,
like any and everything I did, was wonderful.

I can't be sure when the shift happened,
but I find myself less and less capable
of enjoying the morning's application process.
I suppose it's because I no longer wear it for pleasure
but rather, to cover the darkness under my eyelids,
to mask the discoloration in my skin,
and to hide my far too visible exhaustion.

I planted kisses in your collarbone
and told them to grow until they could kiss you for me

I drew paths down your abdomen
and blazed trails down your back

I left bits of myself in your chest
and hoped it was enough of a map

to lead you back to me.

I used to tell myself that I would always love you,
that for the rest of my life part of my soul would always care
but I'm here now and seeing clearer and realizing that if nothing else
you ruined me, ripped me limb from limb and left me bleeding in the streets
and that even in my broken state, even being as empty as I am right now
I have enough self love to accept that whatever we had wasn't love
and that the truth probably is that I was delusional and lost,
I let you hypnotize me, and even when I realized it
I let you walk free,
I let you hurt me.

I tell myself I've moved on
but that doesn't explain
why I go out of my way
to avoid a place,
wondering if you'll show up
when I find myself there anyways.

I wonder what blurred my understanding,
what blindness I had acquired that made me
not see that I fabricated it all.

Perhaps it was my love, so powerful in its wake
that it hindered me, it stopped me from accepting
the truth that laid before my eyes.

I'm sorry for loving so unconditionally,
I haphazardly destroyed the line between
my illusion and your reality;

the worst thing about it I suppose
is that even now,

I'm still unable to tell the difference.

I used to think we could spend our lives together,
so much so that we'd talked about children,
about moving across the world, getting an apartment,
being happy.

I used to think that was what I had wanted,
to be away from everyone and to live,
to enjoy every moment of my life,
and be with you.

I used to think it would be the best life for me,
but I see now that I was delusional,
I was so desperate to feel loved
that I mistook everything between us
to be love.

I know now that what we had wasn't love,
it was my vulnerability on display
and you preying on my weaknesses,
you telling me you cared and that I,
I was the most important person in your life.

You lied.

I think the worst part about it all
is that I knew, all along I knew,
I felt the lies building, time after time
I held back everything, I bit my tongue
and failed to call you out on it.

I think I was afraid to lose you,
not realizing I never had you.

When you hurt me, I kept quiet,
I took my pain, folded it neatly,
and tucked it away into the deepest
and most unreachable chamber of my heart.

Perhaps it had something to do with  
the constant wear and tear to my beating *****,
but I slipped that day, and a whisper
of those words I had so well hidden,
escaped from their confinement.

They tugged on the edge of my lips
and poured out with a insatiable need
to be heard.

I had wondered time and time again
what you would say if these words came out,
the only thing I could have never anticipated
was the silence.

The moment you enter this world you are singing
Singing loud to allow air into your lungs
Singing loud to announce yes “I am here”,

Growing up you sing your mother’s name
Your father’s name
Your aunts’ uncles’ brothers’ sisters’ cousins’ grandparents’ names
You sing in babbled tones, soprano octaves with bubbles on your tongue
Because the world tastes sweet and you want to let it melt in your mouths

Growing up, you learn to sing questions
Crescendo’s of why’s hanging over your head until an answer is sung back
But sometimes you find out there’s no one on the other side of this duet and yes, your song will fall flat
But don’t let that stop you from singing until someone in the world recognizes the melody and sings alongside you

Growing up you learn to sing thank you’s, I’m sorry’s, I love you’s
You know that sometimes they will taste sour, they will burn the back of your throat and make it hard to swallow for a while but you need them
Because when they aren’t leaving holes in your vocal chords they are silk
Warm and welcoming, gliding from your lips to your tongue in one swift motion
Slipping down your throat
Filling you like a balloon about to burst
But making you feel like you have enough air that you could float forever  

Growing up you learn that your favorite song to sing, is your own
Even on the days when it’s off pitch, too loud, too quiet, it’s yours
You become familiar with the bends of the music, the curves in the tune
It doesn’t matter if it’s classic or experimental, if other people like it or hate it
It’s the only constant out of all this music
So you learn to love it,
You sing because you want to be heard
Because it’s the only way to keep living

In statistics we learn that certain events
have undeniable independence,
which allows us to predict the success or failure
under certain circumstances
and I couldn't help but catch myself wondering
what the probability was that an attempt at taking my life might have
and I considered calculating the chance of success,
part of me hoping that parameter exceeded its counter part
while the other part silently prayed and dearly hoped
that the chance of failure knocked success out of the picture.

But these are independent events
and even after analyzing past trials
the only way to know for certain
would to be to carry it out myself.

There are many instances in my life
in which I missed the right time to say
everything that I needed to say or to do
anything I felt the need to do and I realize now
after all these times of missing the right moment
that I was nothing but a fool.

I missed the right moment because I never tried,
I missed the right moment because every moment
should have been the right moment,
and every moment was the right moment;
until it was too late.

Someone once told me
that I was everything
anyone could every want
in a person and I know
I’ve told others
the very same utterance of words
in hopes to brighten their mood
but in the grand scheme of reality
they were missing something
and I’m missing something
and while I can see what they’re missing
I can’t see what I’m missing
and no one will tell me;
I ask them with hopes of improvement
and yet they smile and touch my arm
and tell me no, I’m fine, I’m just fine
and I can see the lies—
I want to know
I want to know
why people leave me
and why I wasn’t good enough
and why I stay up at night
crying about the past
while you day by day
begin to forget my name.

You drag your fingertips across my skin
as if you were painting a picture,
each stroke delicate,
striving for a masterpiece of
perfectly induced shivers and well released moans
and I find myself gripping onto your hair
as if for dear life, pulling you closer to me
as if less space could help me catch my breath
because it’s all so new and unanticipated
all I can do is find myself reveling in the ecstasy—

all I was hoping for in the moment was as much of you as I could devour,
as much of your essence that I could inhale. I craved all of you,
in every fiber of my body, every sense in my system
and for once, I got exactly that.

It's funny how time changes a person;
it's even funnier when it doesn't.

I left you and you left me and I thought
if I were to ever come back, we'd be strangers.

But we're not; it should feel like we've easily
spent lifetimes apart and even though things have happened

You're very much you, and I am me
and we're still somehow us.

You’ve turned me into an acrobat
with the number of times you make my stomach flip,
somersaults and cartwheels with every little flick of the tongue,
every well thought out brush of the skin.

You’ve discovered how to disassemble my body,
searching for the things that make me tick,
finding far too easily, what slows me down
and what winds me up.  

You’ve given me something I don’t have words for,
but it’s there, it’s in your eyes, in the way you look at me
when you think I don’t see; it’s in the way you smile at me
when we wake up in the morning

we’re both lagging but there, awake but not up,
aware that there’s a world waiting for us
but content in the world of each other’s arms.

If you could spend one month in my body
and experience even a fraction of what I've been through
you'd be screaming with apologies for what you did.

But that isn't possible.

So instead you're here, telling me I'm a priority,
when in fact, you were no where to be found
when I needed someone the most.

Where were you when I was crying myself to sleep
for days that became weeks that became months?

Where were you when my mind collapsed in on itself
and the only thing I could think about was death?

Where were you when I ******* needed you?

You have no right to show up after the curtain has fallen,
your time in my life is over and I'm certain about that.

I deserve better than you ever gave me.
I do.

And frankly, I'd rather be alone
than have to rely on you for a single ******* thing.

I close my eyes and I can see you,
standing beside me, lips moving—but those words,
those words I tell myself to forget,
they’re etched into the walls of my head,
that’s why they echo night after night after endless night.

It pains me, dear god it pains me,
with such deafening severity that I wonder,
wonder if perhaps words could ****,
if they could physically manifest
and drive themselves through my chest—
those words certainly did.

Daggers, jagged-edged daggers, that’s what they were,
that’s what they still are: permanently fixed just seconds below my clavicle,
you can hear them as they crash into my ribs with every step,
playing a tune of desperation as if it were a cry for help,
you can watch as they tear new wounds with every stride
into the barely beating ******* I call my heart—

sometime I get called strong and I laugh
because I am not strong nor am I resilient,

I am stubborn. Stubborn and stupid.
If I were strong I would not be dying
if I were strong I would have walked
if I were strong this would not be the end—