You saved me.
You didn't need a mask to do so.
Yet when I see your eyes after a long day of crime
I see the pain you bear inside.
I will always kiss your pain away, baby.
And even though I'll never know the New York City skyline quite like you do,
I'll always stay nearby.
You don't need a web to keep me stuck on you.
Instead I'll try to keep your chin up until you finally can rest.
It might not be much, just know I'm doing my best.
I'm no hero myself, but I know I'm handling this the best I can,
and when you lay down beside me at the end of the night,
I'll kiss you.
I'll show you the tenderness you so desperately need, whether you admit it or not.
The scars on your body are the scars on my heart,
and I'll share your pain.
You are not doing this alone.
It is hard, but I am trying.
And I always will.
I'm not quite sure someone else could do this,
it's hard, I admit it.
But I'll always be here.
Partners in crime until the end of time.
What can I say?
Face it, tiger...
you just hit the jackpot.

When I close my eyes, I see you,
and I'm afraid to speak.
My mouth is dry,
yet my eyes are wet.
I want to hold you,
but I can't.
I'm stuttering,
I'm saying sorry.
I'm sorry that I did this.
I'm sorry that I miss you because
I'm sorry that I care.
I'm sorry that you're suffering because
I'm a sorry fool.
I'm not sorry that I love him.
But I'm sorry that I can't love you.

I want to know your small parts
Every little scar
Every freckle
Every dimple
Every direction your hairs decide to go
I want to know your small parts
I want to know your favorite board game
I want to know the smallest things that steal your attention
I want to know your favorite color
I want to know your darkest nights
I want to know your favorite snack foods
I want to show you so much beauty
I want to show you how wonderful you are
I want to know you

There are people you've never met
who remind me of you
and that means I'm thinking about you
and chances are
you're not thinking about me

After
all this time,
it doesn't matter
who--
my mind
just seems
to wander
directly
back
to you.

I've been losing sleep these last few nights.
Usually this would upset me,
but as I lie here awake
with you on my mind,
warming my heart,
I can't help but wish
you were instead in my bed,
warming my body as well.
I have only smoked one cigarette in the last week.
I started to realize
that you're much more addictive.
It seems nicotine is no match for love.
I've been struggling to be happy
for some time now.
But as I look back over the years,
it's becoming clear I've always been
the happiest when you were there.
While the echo of your voice through
my speakers never fails to make me melt,
I know it'll never rival the day we
fall asleep in one another's arms.
So until it happens,
I hope we can make up for it.
Every moment we've missed.
Every moment we could have kissed.
Until then, I'll lie awake.
Losing sleep again,
for the best
and worst
reasons.

I'm trying to muster up the words to say to you,
the words that could make or break everything we've built.
The words are fighting to cross my lips.
Two years we've been in this cycle,
falling in and out of one another.
A connection that has refused to die,
surviving one another's heartaches like an old friend.
It never mattered how long it was between conversations.
We always picked up right where we left,
only each time,
a little bit older.
This time though, I fell
a little bit deeper.
I can feel your sigh through the speaker of my phone,
feel your lips part as you struggle for words.
I try to keep my eyes dry as my nerves raise,
breaths deepen.
My lips are dry.
Confessions like this are meant to be personal;
confessions like this are meant to be said face to face.
Massapequa and Mukwonago do not face each other.
They don't so much as touch,
which is what makes this so tough.
Your stunning brown eyes that smile more than your lips aren't what stares back at me when I look at your name on my screen.
Only the text.
Only the arial font, black against the blue speech bubbles.
To know what it would feel like to say these words to your face would be
knowing how to make this work.
But time and money are not on our side.

When you told me you loved me,
you told me it was different.
You told me you tell everyone you love them but it's empty.
I asked how I was different,
and all you told me is the first thought you'd have should
we ever meet
would be to kiss me.
You told me the first thing you'd do
would be to ensure we were connected more than ever:
lips
to
**lips.

Your creativity is showing me a spectrum of colors I myself had never seen,
and though overwhelming,
it's mesmerizing all the same.
The shades of your voice are enough to get me lost in the art,
the cool and warm tones of your words leave me wondering just what season it is.
Similar to the Wisconsin weather I endure daily,
so warm and embracing one moment,
nearly as cold as the deadest of winter the next.
You told me your worry about yourself because of how your mind works.
That over the last two years,
it has not mattered who we've seen,
what we've endured,
we always come back to this.
And can I just say that
I never thought I'd be in this kind of relationship.
Late night phone calls and
distanced "I love yous"
followed by confessions I fear I'll never admit once the line goes dead.
We always joked we'd marry when we were younger,
but the reality of it is becoming realer than I'd ever imagined.
Through it all, I just want you to know that
I wouldn't mind getting lost in your voice one day.
The spectrum you show me,
almost as vast as the space between you and I.
And yes, I really have thought about this-
because I consider you my best friend
And that's something no amount of distance will change.

H** esitance overcame me the moment I recognized the feelings.
E ncountering them jogged my memory of what it was like; love.
A lthough the nerves in my body are zipping around, electric,
L etting this happen feels like the most natural thing I can do.
I 'm going to. For reasons I cannot place, there is little to
N o fear in my chest at the thought of you, as you feel like a
G ift. One I've waited far, far too long to accept.

It's been almost a year and I don't love you anymore. But I can't help but remember you showing me The Wonder Years and I don't think of you when I listen to them, but I will admit you still come to mind when I listen to Aaron West. It's bittersweet, like grapefruit. Both ended up my coping mechanism.
You left when I had the most faith in you I would ever have and it's not that I'm not over you. I'm not over what you did. I fear putting that much of my faith into someone again would be like handing them a loaded gun with a faulty trigger, as cliche as that is, and praying they don't shoot. I fear it wouldn't matter whether they try to shoot or not. I fear it'll happen when they don't mean for it. I'm afraid to love.
I don't hate you, but by no means do I love you, I just hope you're happy and you don't think about me when you look around that apartment, because I know I helped you move in-- I was there when you brought in your couch, bed, everything on that road. I stopped thinking about you every time I stepped into my room. I hope you did the same.
I hope she's happy, too. The girl you're with now. You did everything you could to hide the fact it was /her/ of all girls you ended up with, but it wasn't in my control that my friends told me. I'm happy you two are together-- you always talked about your connection anyway. I knew it had full potential, I just always hoped it wouldn't.
I've picked up bad habits, but haven't we all? I hope Ezra happens for you, and I hope I didn't ruin the name. I hope she treats you right.
It's been almost a year and I don't love you anymore. I just wish things didn't end the way they did. And I'm sorry.

When fireworks implode above us,
I understand why people say
"When I kiss you, I feel fireworks."

At first, it's like sparklers.
Small, short, but entertaining enough
to make you want to try again.

Then it gets up to firecrackers.
They get you heated, they make you
wanna throw a party.

Then they're fireworks.
It feels like you're exploding and
you can't help but be in awe.

And it's beautiful.
It's a moment you wish
you could catch on camera.

It's what keeps you waiting for
the grand finale.

It's what keeps me wanting
you.

Passion behind words is something I worry I feel alone.
I’ve tried sharing my passion of vocabulary,
my passion of poetry with others,
tried showing them the entire novels only
a few lines can write,
and I worry that I seem insane.
I worry that they don’t understand me,
that I’m misinterpreted.
No, I am not saying I feel smarter than you,
I am saying I find beauty in these words,
these stories.
My father calls it beatnik.
He believes spoken word poetry exists nowhere but a paper,
that it is not meant to be spoken,
that it is a lesser version of rap--
which he also hates.
I pattern my syllables or rhyming to create what I see as art,
only to have others raise an eyebrow and wonder
what my “damage” is.
Distinguishing my deterioration is not the objective at hand.
"Words" can be so easily misspelled to say "swords,"
and swords can impale.
I suppose words can, too.

If you look to the stars on a late winter night,
you’ll find they shine brighter than normal.
Although summer’s warmer and
most would rather look at the stars then,
I often find myself stepping out on December nights
to stare into the depths above,
playing connect the dots.
The thing with the sky is,
no matter how far you try to look into it,
you’ll never figure it out.
I worry I’m the same.
I’ve been looking deep inside myself for years,
trying to find the meaning to which I provide life.
I’ve been trying to figure out why the dark spots are so vast
in comparison to the light.
It was only recently that I found
that despite the dark,
despite the ever-growing black,
there were gargantuan amounts of light,
only they were smaller.
What I’ve found
is it’s the little things.
And just like the sky,
there is so much dark,
and yet so much light.
So instead of looking for the light in the sky,
I should find the light in myself.
Maybe there’s a few constellations in me, too.

If home is where the heart is,
I know it does not lie with you.
For there is no stranger being that could embody it.
Although we were children,
you have lost your place in my mind,
my heart,
and whilst I keep myself as far from you as possible,
it seems you continuously find your way in.
Despite my best efforts
you are a force to be reckoned with.
Despite your best efforts,
so am I.
The newspaper came out with a story last week.
"Man Charged With Having Relationship With Girl"

What you’ve deserved all these years has
caught up with your running,
as you cannot run forever.
It's time we grow up.
Hide and seek is over.
All this time I thought I was the one who should be hiding.
Maybe, it should have been you.

I fell for your charm.
It started with the tattoos lining your arm,
each themed like the sea.
After beginning to see what we could be,
I told you that you were an ocean.
I always told you that you were deep,
and that being deep was okay,
that there was nothing wrong with emotions.
But I also told you I was terrible at swimming.
I started to try learning each day,
but I drowned in you,
and it seemed you did too.
I avoided decay
though you led me astray.
I wasn’t ready to learn,
and you, not ready to teach.
I needed your help but refused to beseech.
Just know I forgive you for bringing me such pain.
I’ve become stronger each day,
less selfish with personal gain.
And despite my knowing I will always feel worn,
if I feel too weak,
I’m never too far from shore.
Being alone is a struggle no more.

When we first met you told me I had bad habits.
I bit my nails when I was anxious,
I bounced my knee when I did something wrong.
I wasn’t very confident.
I took your words to heart,
and I tried changing those habits.
I hoped you’d notice each time I didn’t do them,
each time an alternative arose.
As I focused more and more on pleasing you than myself,
you grew distant.
I kicked myself ****** on my own two feet.
I attempted to be strong,
strong enough to love you when you couldn’t love yourself,
but it wasn’t enough.
It took me a while to adjust once you left.
Most of those habits returned.
I grew to accept them.
The few habits I dropped for good are the ones I don’t miss.
I suppose my worst habit of all of them was
loving you.

1:42am
10/5/2015
i want to scream to the sky
the same sky that i told id love you forever
and you promised youd never leave
and scream with all the breath left in me
that i am terrible at keeping time
and you are terrible at keeping promises

I was advised by many women in their 30s
that I might always love you.
That I'd have to learn to ignore it and suppress it.
Well, I am.
I've been doing well.
When I think of you,
I think of what you did to hurt me.
But there are moments like just now,
when I saw the picture of you from the night we met,
where I can't help but feel.
Now the memories are flooding back again.
It's been about six months since you left,
and you're moving on.
I'm trying.
It's working, slowly and painfully, but I'm trying.

On the nights I accidentally sleep through the evening and wake when the sun’s long
gone,
I can’t help but think about how it feels like falling for you.
I say
this because it always shocks me, leaves me trying to figure out what’s going on.
It
gives me a loss of gravity, as though I’ve lost contact with the world for a while.
With
my being used to being alone, hearing your voice through my speakers brings
a
smile to my face. I can’t place the exact feelings. I have trouble wording it.
Shy
was never a word to describe me. But you’ve somehow shut me up, your
grin
alone catches my full attention. Whenever I talk to you, I feel grounded.
I
feel like gravity returns. That’s just it, I’m gravitated to you. Somehow, it’s
almost
like you’re the Earth itself. Perhaps I’m your stars, hoping you’ll make a
wish
on me. Take a chance on me. Perhaps, I’m even your moon. Maybe
you
look up at me when I’m hardly even here, a sliver. I do that a lot. I hate that I can’t be
saved
from rising and falling every night, because I worry you get tired of the cycle.
Me
and you together feels like a storm rolling in. The calm is long gone, the winds coming
from
the east coast, rolling through Wisconsin like a force only you could bring. By
myself,
I’d be intimidated. But knowing it’s you bearing the force brings no surprise. If
only
you knew your worth. I understand your fears, seeing as if I am the moon, and
you
are the Earth, I will inevitably leave your side for at least a while. But know I will
never
leave you. I revolve around you, and although I am not your sun, know that
even
when I’m gone, I am yours. Know that no matter what happens, I
**tried

I guess
I would
rather
lose
sleep
than
lose
you.

I want to get so drunk I forget my own name.
The problem is, I think I'd still remember yours.
I've done everything I can to forget you except forget you,
and I don't think it's ever going to work.

Falling in love scares me more than drowning.
In a sense, it's the same thing. You put your heart in someone's hands and if they drop you, it feels like you're being engulfed in a dark hole you'll never come out of.
He left over three months ago.
About a month ago he blocked me on everything and I'm glad he did.
It felt like someone cut a ball and chain from my leg, and before they did that I was stuck at the bottom of whatever trench I was in. Once it was cut, I was so engulfed in the panic I didn't realize I could finally get out.
But I did.
Now I'm just trying to find the courage to get back in the water.
I always wondered why I was afraid of dark water.
Maybe that's why.
You never know if you'll be pulled back under.
You never know when you're safe.

Lying in bed only makes me long to remember the feeling of having someone's arms around me. It only makes me long for it to happen. But it doesn't.
I work part time and start my senior year in a week and I'm ****** on sleep because I refuse to, or I'm never tired at night.
I always sit up in bed.
I always sit up in bed.
Maybe I never lie down because I expect arms around me, but am instead met with a bare pillow.
I should probably change the pillow case.
My makeup smeared on it when I cried.
I know I'm not alone, but I still feel so lonely.
I know I'm not alone but something in me says I will be.
I haven't gotten up today other than to get my paycheck. I contemplated buying myself some clothes. It makes me a little happier.
Instead I crawled into bed and took a nap because at least in my dreams, I forget the loneliness.

Do yourself a favor.
Don't think of the little bit of food that got on their chin that one time in the little pizza place you stopped at together, and how you both laughed.
Don't think about the night you laid on the roof of their car with them, looking at the stars, pointing out your favorite constellations and listening to cheesy love songs.
Don't think about the morning you woke up to their smile when you least expected it.
Don't think about the mornings you woke up to their voice.
Don't think about the long drives where you'd sing at the top of your lungs, for hours and hours.
Don't think about the shows you went to together, and how they cried during that one song, and tried to hide it, but you held them anyway.
Don't think about the moment you made the promise of forever, whether it was the ring in the glovebox they tricked you into finding, or the slow conversation at 2am.
Don't think about the time their car broke down in the middle of town and you helped them fix it.
Don't think about how empowered you felt knowing you could help fix something with them, for them, and made them so happy.
This is something you can't fix.
You can't fix everything.
Somethings are meant to stay broken.
Like the first place you made love,
intimate, raw,
it's not a place you can go to anymore.
Their love does not belong to you.
Yours does not belong to them.
Think about the moment they did the unexpected--
the moment they ended it.
Think about the fact you were expecting a life of happiness, memories, a family, a happily ever after.
Think about how they took that away in a matter of seconds.
Think about how you still deserve that.
Think about how you didn't deserve to get that taken from you.
Think about how they don't deserve you.
Their eyes will forever be your favorite shade of whatever,
but for their mouth to convince you this would never end,
know it's better you got the truth now than later.
Close your eyes.
Put their things aside.
Trust me, you'll get yours eventually.
Lay down and sleep.
You'll dream of them for weeks, months,
you'll think you hear their voice when you don't.
It's for the better.
Your heart was never meant to endure such torture,
and as fragile as it remains once they lift their foot from the wreckage,
why let them have the opportunity to put it down again?
Lift yourself up.
Dust off your coat, your shoes.
It's a long journey from where you are now, but happiness will reappear.
When you're least expecting it, you'll find it again.
And they won't be there.
And that's okay.
I promise.

You worry that you wouldn't be able to give me the world,
when in reality there's not much to give me but your all;
giving me all of you is giving me the world.
I'm not saying you've nothing to offer.
I'm just saying that you don't have to try to give me anything;
breathing your air is privilege enough.
You've not stopped being my world since the day you left.
It worries me, because the only reason I'm certain, is I don't doubt us.
I only pray I can become your world again.
I'm homesick, I feel as though I've been lost in the stars.
Maybe that's why you said you see them in my eyes.
It's the filter that so finely differentiated you and I.
I've always had my head in the clouds, and I worry that the weights on your shoulders prevent you from seeing things from my perspective.
I told you from day one;
you make my heart feel like it's floating.
I just haven't come down yet.

The moment you walked into the room,
tousled hair, guitar case in hand,
I knew I had to talk to you.
Your forest eyes were tired but you tried so hard to seem interesting,
and I was determined
to find my way through those emerald pines
so tightly sequestered in your iris to
your mind.
Everything was lighthearted until the drive home.
You told me we should definitely talk or hang again soon.
Keeping in mind that it was me you were talking to,
I chuckled awkwardly and waved it off.
"It's more something you'll have to follow up on.
"It doesn't matter how many times I ask to go places,
"See people,
"Everyone forgets about me.
"It's okay though. I'll see you around."

Obviously, I'm not good at first impressions.

I saw you around, here and there,
when suddenly, we lost a mutual friend.
I'd been crushing on your irish charm for some time now.
You were nearing the end of a relationship.
The most ****** up thing,
is the fact that
I knew
that I loved you
when
you walked into the room
holding her hand.

It's ironic- and kind of unnerving-
that three weeks later,
you were taking me on our first date.
Despite the location--
Country Christmas, Pewaukee, WI--
the color that was most vibrant was the look in your eyes
when you leaned in to kiss me.

Those forest eyes are the ones I was screaming to
seven months later.
Almost to date.
The ones I was begging for answers from,
on my knees in front of one of the many Wisconsin forests,
alone.
Tears stung my eyes as I hit the ground.
Your name tore at my throat as I looked at the trees
and saw nothing but your eyes.

I was tempted to run into the forest.
I was tempted to see if it would lead me back to you,
if I could finally get through the brush and find your smile again.

I wonder if I'll see it again.
I wonder if I'll kiss you again.

All I knew from the moment you walked into the room,
tousled hair, guitar case in hand,
was you were going to be a part of my life, forever.

I was just hoping you'd be my forever.

18, no sense of purpose.
A bottle of pills and ***** later,
you're lying in a hospital bed.
You're not awake right now.

People keep asking me to give you some advice,
saying, "You know how it feels, right?"
How do I talk to someone who's hardly even there?

This hypocrisy echoes like a church bell in my head,
I don't practice what I preach.
I ask people to reach,
out for me,
out to help,
but I can't even reach out to you?
I can't help the fear.

How do I tell someone it'll all be okay,
especially when I'm still fighting to find a reason to stay, myself?

I last saw you at Christmas, a family event.
You even had me fooled, cleaned up,
new job, going to school,
further than I ever expected to be myself.

But here we are again.
Same place, same tricks.

You're supposed to turn 19 next week.
I want to say I love you but I'm scared to delve that deep.
I want to say I love you, but I'm already a mess.
I want to say I love you but I can't lose somebody else,
I can't go to another funeral.
I've never been to a funeral for someone over 18,
please, don't make that change,
don't make the number raise.

Smoky blue eyes, can you see past the fog?
Haley, why won't you stay?
I promise, it fades.
I'm not strong enough for both of us,
give me a little leeway,
try,
stop pushing me away.

Haley, please,

Tomorrow's a new day.

July is unbearably hot in Wisconsin.
Lose yourself in the sun's rays.
Not the *****.
Not the pills.

How do I reach out to you?

I can't stop the fear.

It was the first time we'd seen each other
since we broke up.
We were sitting on a picnic table bench
at the last place we went on a date ,
crying our eyes out.
You saw the tears in my eyes
and you choked on yours.
"What are we?" You laughed through the tears.
"A mindfuck. A glorious, incredible mindfuck."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood,
and you pulled me into your arms.
You didn't let me go until I stopped crying.
"I never knew there was a such thing as an intimate hug," you announced.
I laughed.
You pulled back and put your forehead to mine,
and I didn't kiss you.
I stopped myself.
"Are we thinking the same thing right now?"
You chuckled, voice wavering.
I responded, "Yes."
That was the first time I didn't tell you I loved you when I felt it.
I wish I did.

"We're trying so ******* hard
not to be a couple.
Not to act
like we want each other more than anything.
But holy ****,
it's like trying to forget how to breathe.
How can you just stop doing something
so natural that you never even learned to do it,
something just happened on its own?
How can you stop something
that feels so ******* right
and calming
and healthy
and try to find alternatives?
Ways to complete life
without doing the action
you're trying so hard not to do?
Pretending not to love him feels like
being on a respirator.
I just want to breathe again,
I just want to breathe naturally;
I just want to be his again,
I just want to be us again."

My pulse quickens when I descend those stairs,
and when I reach the bottom and look to the place
where we used to lay, where you slept so many times,
I wonder if it's called a heartbeat because of the bruises
I feel forming on the inside of my ribcage
from how hard my heart thuds.

I spent nine hours awake in bed yesterday,
hungover,
or is the word overhang?
Thoughts of you looming overhead,
whether or not I'll ever kiss you again.
You see your scent has stained my clothing,
my couch, my bed,
and although it's now subtle,
I still smell it from time to time and I mostly smile.
Yet I start feeling unsettled because I know not what we are,
old friends in love?
Or should I call you my ex?
You held me last week,
for the first time in over a month,
and there were no hard feelings.
No feelings except love and confusion.

I'm confused.

You got drunk the other night and messaged me,
telling me you missed me.
I thought I'd made it obvious that I miss you too,
your fingers tracing my curves in your bed on those late winter nights,
the way your lips molded with mine,
proving that maybe I am an artist,
because never before was I part of such a beautiful piece of work.
Work, because it was not easy,
but no masterpiece is.
It's late nights of thinking, frustration,
and sometimes, no sleep at all.
It's compromise,
it's accepting the faults and moving past them,
learning to embrace them.

Though when it's finally over,
you can't help but think of how breathtaking it is.

The problem is, our canvas was massive--
we were far from filling its empty spaces.

I can't help but hope that as we are,
completely aware we love each other,
still too far in to stop loving each other now,
that maybe,
we will pick up the paintbrushes
and finish this masterpiece.

Maybe my ribs will get some rest
from the beating they've undergone,
maybe we can finally earn some repose,
together.

Everything reminds me of you.
I'd say you're stuck in my head,
But the proper term is "earworm--"
You are not a pest.
You're too friendly,
Too lovable.
You closer resemble puppy,
Just like everyone says.
Only I feel as though you've run away.
I miss your loyalty.
Your companionship.
Your ability to make me smile,
No matter how hard I cry,
And those incredible, sparkling eyes.
I worry about you, now,
Because it seems you've run away.
I wonder where you've been,
If you're being treated well.
Or, if you've been alone.
Just like anyone who
Has lost their best friend,
I just want you to come home.

"Home is where the heart is."
Gaius Plinius Secundus.

Around the time I turned 9 years old,
the word "home" became a puzzle.
Where was it?
Was I supposed to go and find it?
What did it even look like?

You see, I grew up in an unhealthy household
with few friends to surround myself with.
I grew up calling my house just that--
a house.

I searched for a safe place to rest my tired mind and heart
for longer than I can remember.
But on a seemingly dull November night,
where I was completely off guard,
completely unaware,
you walked into the room,
and suddenly,
I saw a porch light.
I was so scared to walk in because,
How was I supposed to know a home even looked like that?
Disheveled, almost ashy brown hair.
Eyes greener than the pines that
we've been surrounded by our whole lives,
a smile reminiscent of the sun itself.
A month later, I finally let myself in and
I feel as though I made the mistake of getting too cozy.
You see, the floorboards had chips and cracks,
The foundation had been growing weak.
I insisted on staying as the roof caved in.
I had to crawl out of the rubble,
alone,
and try to build some makeshift shelter of my own.
A shelter of empty liquor bottles and cigarette butts,
Crumpled up papers and broken pencils.

I was sure the light was out for good.
I was sure I was left to find another home,
or at least wander in the nothingness,
when I heard a slight knock.
A knock on the door,
and I went outside.
I was confused--
nobody was there.
No one was home.

I followed the knocking as it rang in my ears,
and came across a familiar,
unkempt shanty.

The porch light flickered as I approached.
You came back into my life,
and while all I wanted to do was step inside,
maneuver through the wreckage,
I stared.
I couldn't even look in those stain glass windows,
those rich, forest green eyes,
because I felt it.
As I stood beside you,
next to you,
I feared for my sanity knowing
you were still my home.

The conversations were almost as unstable
as the remaining scaffolding and stilts.
As the drops began to pattern my clothing,
you reached out, gave me your hand,
and pulled me inside.
You pulled me into your arms,
and I cried.
I cried because I was home again.
I couldn't tell you that.
I cried because I still love you,
and we simply cannot mingle.
We cannot use the old baseboards
of the places we've evacuated
to rebuild a home together;
I'm yet to find my heart.
I think I left it with you.

When I pulled away from your hold,
I felt lost.
I looked to your eyes without thinking,
and I saw every moment we spent together
as though it were today.

I saw the little country market where you
demanded I get out of the car,
because I was crying and you knew I needed
someone to hold, and you offered.
I saw the look in your eyes when you asked to kiss me,
because you knew that I'd been hurt so terribly before,
because you wanted me to feel safe enough
to fall into someone's arms again.
I saw our matching shoes on our first date,
the nerf guns you came running in with,
heard the playlist in the car as we laughed at
how young we felt, and how it contradicted our actual age.

I saw the box I had to put your things in.
I saw the screen of the phone reading 'call ended',
the last time I heard your voice.
I saw the treeline as I shouted at it,
cursing at the wind for reminding me of your touch,
for sending chills down my spine when
that was your job,
cursing the trees for being so lively,
so close to your eyes,
I cursed you for being everywhere I went.

Like a 'Vacancy" sign on my front door,
I felt as though I was evicted from my home,
and I cannot go back because
it's not safe.

I know it's not safe.
Not right now.
I know the foundation is weaker than ever.
I know there's not room for two.

Instead I lie in this bed,
thinking of you.

I'm lost.
I miss you.
I just want to go home.

10:12pm

You told me
I was
worth it.
Now,
I just feel
worthless.

Dwell
In my basement dwells the memories of you and I,
musty like your scent on late March nights,
cold like the night we first kissed.
But the emptiness is reminiscent to that of a cave.
The deeper I enter into my basement,
the more alone I realize I now am;
The more often I stop to admire my surroundings,
the more danger I feel knowing
I have nothing to help me get out
if everything around me
fell apart again.

It is people like us
who are meant to be alone.
It's the way we've become accustomed to living,
late nights of dreading sunrise,
talking **** about the place we inhabit.
Talking **** is *****,
but not as ***** as I feel
waking in the same place.
Nothing has changed,
it'll always be the same,
and I don't have the patience
to encourage any change.
I stopped giving a ****.

Oh well.

You and I were a natural disaster.
How we acted came naturally,
Though as natural as a volcano.
There is beauty in destruction.
And darling, we blew up.
We crumbled, we burned,
And we took others down with us.

The aftermath still isn't pretty,
But life is rebuilding around us.
It's avoiding the rough spots,
Still cooling off.
It's hard.
It's rocky.
It'll all come together soon, though.

I was magma, unstable, explosive.
You were the rock, the result of previous disasters.
You were simply trying to grow.
I was simply out of control.

You and I were a natural disaster.
And just like most eruptions,
We erupted when it was least expected.
Maybe now, I can cool.
I can stabilize and reform.
You can finally get the stability you need,
From a source less risky than I.

There is beauty in destruction.

I drove past the first place you kissed me
And I couldn't tell if my heart
skipped a beat
because of the thought of your lips,or if it
skipped a beat
because you haven't called me in weeks.

I feel as though
I've changed a lot as a person
since you left.
But the one thing I can't shake,
is how empty
I still feel
without you.

Why does my mind do this?
My heart still feels funny,
It was thudding so fast.
I thought I was getting over you.
But when I heard my front door open,
the excitement of seeing you came,
even though you didn't come with.
The more that I think about you,
the more you just seem like a really good dream I had;
I've accepted that you're no more than a memory.
I know it'll never be real.
I know that all there is left to do is remember.
I know that I'll have so many more dreams,
but that will never stop you
from being the best I ever had.

I didn't think about you very much at all today.
But I just heard the door open,
and for a solid five seconds,
I legitimately thought you came back.

An Open Letter To The First Boy I Loved

Alternatively known as “An Open Letter To The Boy That Calls Me Crazy.”

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
A picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

The first thing I should have done was run.
Not only were you immediately trying to make me feel bad
Before I had even uttered a word,
But you were already one-upping me,
Making me feel like you had been through so much more.

I admit my mistake of having shown my weaknesses online
At such a young age,
Hardly 14,
But having grown to a world of romanticized trauma,
I felt it was only normal to have issues of my own,
Whether they were exaggerated or not.

The saddest part of these issues having been forced upon myself
Is the fact that at one point I did not need them,
But now I feel like I would be nothing without them.
I do not blame you for their worsened behavior,
But before I met you,

I had never felt like a ****.
I had never actually made myself bleed to the point of soiling a shirt.
I had never actually attempted to take my life.

Though knowing I had these scars,
It seemed you knew how easily I’d fall into you,
Fall for you,
Looking for comfort in knowing I was not alone.

You persuaded me into kissing you.
You persuaded me into losing my virginity in the back of your mom’s car
While she was in your house on a cold September night.
It was rushed.
It was rough.
There was blood.
And you did not care.
“It’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

In the six months we were together,
I willingly had *** with you twice.
Every other time ****** acts occurred,
(which was over forty times)
You guilted me.
You told me that you deserved it.
You asked if I really loved you.
You told me I needed to show you that I loved you,
You told me that it was what love really was.

I never told you how many times I cried after you left.
I never told you how many guys I kissed after you,
And how every single one made me cry
Without saying a word.
It was the simple intimate touch--
Lips, even if gentle, pressing together--
That sent fear rolling through my body.

It was three months after you broke up with me.
Three months after you admitted that you cheated on me,
It was the day you asked me to go on a walk with you.
The day we could become friends again,
Start over,
Ignore that I still loved you,
Try again.
You insisted you still loved me
(Though now I doubt you ever did).
You insisted that you
Never wanted to hurt me,
And bent me over a tree in the woods
Behind the high school,
And said it would
“Just be in and out! Once!”
And I begged you to stop.
You slapped me,
You called me a ****,
And when you finally finished,
You started to panic.
You were begging me to say that
You
Didn’t
****
Me.
Through my own tears,
My own confusion,
My own pain,
I assured you,
“No, you're okay. It'll all be okay.”

It has been over two years since that day.
Since then, I have opened myself up to one person.

That man has since left me.
One of the contributing factors
Being that he was worried I was not over you.
He kept receiving messages from you,
Messages you sent claiming I would never stop loving you,
When this is the closest thing to hatred that I have ever felt,
Messages you sent claiming I would always think of you,
And what’s terrifying is I can’t help thinking of you--

It's only because I can’t get the nightmare
Of your touch
Out of my aching skull
And I don’t want you to feel victorious,
And it terrifies me that you do,
Because not only did you push me,
Not only did you threaten me,
Intimidate me,
**** me,
But you insisted I’d spend the rest of my life with you,
You disoriented my visions of love
Like a bad LSD trip,
And I’m so ******* scared it will never ******* end,
Because every time I see myself trying to hug,
Kiss,
Love,
Trust someone,
I see what you did to me and I know that it’s
Baggage to them,
But a ball and chain on me,
And I’m petrified.
These memories are bars keeping me from moving onto happier things,
Keeping me holed up, waiting for you to finally let me go,

Stop telling people that I’m crazy,
Stop whispering my name when you pass me in the hall,
Stop following my social media,
Stop following the people that I try to let in,
Stop ******* with my life,
Stop ******* with my head,
Stop ******* with me,
Leave me the **** alone,

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
With a picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

I never thought I’d have more scars than that.
Over 146 scars,
The police department proved it when they showed up at your house
The night you tried to **** yourself,
And told me it was my fault.

The scars I have aren’t physical.
Not all of them, at least.
But the problem with scars is they don’t just go away.
They go away with time,
And it’s hard to let them heal when you’re still leaving them there today.

I’ve tried telling the police what you’ve done.
I’ve tried telling counselors,
They haven’t done anything;
There was never enough proof,
It happened too long ago.
I can’t do anything to prove it.
Instead I’m left to see you daily.
Instead I’m left to hear you whisper about me.
Have people ask me questions about the things they’re hearing
Things you say.

This is an open letter to the first boy I loved.

I say boy, because
The only thing I’m certain of anymore,
Is you will never
Be a
Man.

I found a caterpillar in the road when I took a walk today.
I picked it up, took a picture of it on my finger,
and sent it to a friend.
They responded
Aw, it's so small!
I told him I put it on a leaf and walked away.
But won't you miss it?
He joked, to which I replied,
He has a home.
Everyone deserves a chance to go home.
Why do you make sense?
He asked with a chuckle.
I apologized.
Well, now it's gone forever.
I stared at some leaves
and sat on the sidewalk.
No. It's just going home.
My friend grimaced,
noting that I was no longer joking.
Might it be home forever?
If it is, it's lucky.
Is it?
Well, at least it has a home to go to.
I said this quietly,
forgetting to filter my thoughts.
But you found it on the streets.
I sighed through my nose.
It may have been on the streets,
but as long as it's looking,
it'll find a home.
I miss its cute little face.
I laughed.
Why don't you go find it again?
With a bite of my lip,
I responded,
**Because I need to find my home.
And it's been taking me a lot longer
than it's taking the caterpillar.

I think I'm the person I swore I'd never be.
I always feared cigarettes,
and was terrified of monsters in my closet.
I never had many friends and
hated myself with a passion
I couldn't put into words.
So I put it into broken tree branches,
****** poems
and little razor cuts.
But my, do people change.

Over the last six months,
the only monsters I've feared were
the ones in my head.
I haven't touched a razor in a year or so,
and trees are so highly valued to me.
I still write ****** poems,
and cigarettes still scare me,
but I've found the exhilaration
of the nicotine/tobacco mix
is just what I've needed
to get by.

I'm not the same person I was
when I last fell in love.
I was sure that I was problematic,
sure that nobody truly wanted me around.
I know I've got friends.
I know we've all got lives of our own.
I was sure that I would end up alone.
I'm not sure if that'll ever change.
I know I'm not ugly by any means.
Except, maybe, my insecurities,
which have taken the place of aforementioned
monsters in the closet.

The monsters are much bigger now,
yet so much harder to see.
They hide between the cracks of things,
appearing instead of safety.
The monsters are my doubts.
The monsters are my shaky hands,
my calorie-counting habits,
and seeing the person I cannot seem to escape.
I never thought he'd be a face
I was so afraid to see,
but when his face comes to mind,
I'm frantic to make it go away.
Not because he hurt me,
but because of the change.
I've always had a fear of change.
I hear the words
France
Cooking
Drums
Stars
Walmart.
It's hard to forget the person
your mom was certain you'd move in with.
It's hard to forget the person
you swore you'd never be.

But here I am,
perhaps, one in the same.
For the person I swore I would never
conform to being
is the person I see in the mirror.
I've always been afraid of change,
but I've changed so much in the last month,
I don't see the same person.

I know I'm stronger,
but I'm not much braver.
I keep more to myself
yet somehow
press to be with others.
I don't need approval
of those that I surround myself with,
I just want approval from myself.

I fear I'll never get it.
I'm so afraid of change.

I just want to tell you I'm sorry.
I want to tell you all of the things I know I did wrong.
I want you to know I never meant to hurt you.
I never wanted to be that person.
I'm moving on, I'm growing up.
And it's without you,
whether I like it or not.

It's taken me a long time to realize
that being happy is a matter of smiling
without having to think about it first
and sometimes
smiling is a matter of doing so because you can

"You're always moving forward.
Just sometimes, the road gets bumpy as ****."
The road may get bumpy,
but I'm ever so clumsy.
Give me a spotter
otherwise I may break
something along the way.
I'm not saying I need to be saved,
I just need someone
to make sure I'm okay.

Your things finally made
their way out of my room.
Maybe tonight,
so will the memory of you.

Burnt out like the **** of an old cigarette,
lipstick stained,
excitement drained,
nothing left but a ***** filter.
I'm seeing you for what you really are,
an addictive, silent killer.
You're romanticized by everyone,
except maybe yourself.
Oh, the coolest people have you
when they have nobody else.
Turns out, they're just victims
of a lifelong game of tag.
Still waiting for the moment
the chase ends and
they don't have to keep running back.
Like they're not supposed to have anything else to do,
almost like if they stopped,
they'd have no one
and you'd stop coming around
to build them up when they needed a kick,
giving them the smallest of highs.
You'd stop coming around and making them see
the world through your eyes.
Almost like it's so bad without you,
when really you're a pest-
gifted at knowing how to infest,
buzzing overhead no matter where they go,
inescapable like a dream.
Night after night,
whether they live alone or
with a family of six,
you keep up your tricks,
and the game's getting old.
Sometimes you gotta learn when to stop,
but it's repetition at its finest,
cancer stick to cancer stick until the
clock strikes twelve
and your gig is up.
Take your time,
they'll all see it soon.
Til then,
infect,
inject,
dissect their minds
don't let them be.
You're toxic as you are,
but not toxic to me.