I wanted to write a poem
And name it
"Baby Carrots"

I was going to write about
how your favorite band
was Pink Floyd,
and how I see your face
in the surface of the swimming pool
behind your house.

I was going to write about
the bus seats
with burn marks
and scratches in the vinyl
that you left in the backs.

I was going to write about
your faded red hair and
how everyone laughed,
including you.

I was going to write about
your funeral.

I was going to write about
your bedroom door
and how when I look at it
I think,
that for maybe a second,
you're sitting in there,
fixing a computer.

I was going to write about
the empty space
in the room
when everyone's together
aside from you.

I decided to let you rest.
You need your sleep.
I hope some day,
if there is some world after all of this,
I see you again.

Just in case I don't,

I wanted to write a poem.

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.

10:12pm

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

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

For the fourth time this week,
I drove down J imagining you were in the seat next to me,
Telling me how much of a nerd I was for mouthing the words to the song playing.
Bayside had always been our favorite band,
This ride did not change that.
I mouthed that you were my rock so long as I was yours and you just smiled.
I awake from my reverie.
Fourteen hours later and you’ve hardly spoken to me today.
It’s normal, though, as you’re a busy guy.
This is what I’ve been telling myself for three years.
I apologize to the voices in my head for your behaviour.
“We’ve talked about this,”
I say,
“We’re not going to try anything because of the distance.”
I sigh to myself and erase the message I’ve typed out for you.
It’s the fifth time I’ve done it this hour,
Seeing as you never responded to the last.
Last time you said you loved me was three days ago.
I told you I love you two hours ago and you called me a nerd.
“Nerd.”
I take a deep breath at the thought of the word.
I try to replace it with something different.
“Love.”
“Beautiful.”
Beautiful.
You’ve called me beautiful, right?
I scroll through our messages, looking for a time where you might have.
I only find you telling me my smile “kills” you.
Those words still make me melt, and I hate it.
I hate myself for loving you like this.
I hate myself for hating myself for loving you,
As I convince myself again,
For the hundredth time,
That you do.
I’ve been begging for a sign that you do.
One aside from your words.
“Actions speak louder than words,”
I remind myself,
And think back to an action.
What have you done?
I can’t help but wonder if the songs you wrote about me,
Loving me,
And us,
Were sent to another.
The lack of specification in said songs makes me swallow hard.
I think back to the night you told me you broke down with your friend.
You told him everything,
How you’ve loved me for years,
How you’ve never been able to do something about it.
How you tell me you date so many girls but always think of me.
How I believe you.
I’m scared, now.
Every day that we’re apart,
I can’t help but worry and doubt.
Am I just some... toy?
I can’t help wonder to myself if I am,
And I scroll through our messages.
I’m torturing myself, really.
As I scroll I reflect on the amount;
Thousands of messages collected over the past three years.
Three years--
Why would you spend that much time ‘toying’ with someone?
My heart swells,
As do tears.
I erase the message I’ve typed out to you.
That's the sixth time this hour.
The cycle will repeat until I fall asleep,
One last unsent message sitting in my palm.
I stare at the screen, waiting for my eyes to close.
They don't.
"active now"
it reads under your name.
I stare at your display picture.
For the fourth time this week, I pretend you’re staring back.
And for the... what was it?
I’ve lost count.
I pretend you’re listening and I turn off the screen.*
“Goodnight, I love you. Sweet dreams.”

I was sitting beside my best friend,
catching up with friends I hadn't seen since they graduated
when you sat down,
uninvited.
It didn't take a genius to tell
my throat was already closing
at the sight of you.
It had been over a year and a half since
I had last seen your face,
yet here I sat,
less than three feet from my ******.
I received two texts immediately.
one:
"I'm sorry."
From my best friend, who knew everything.
two:
"Are you okay?"
From my other best friend, who knew nothing,
but felt like something was wrong.
Wrong.
Suddenly, everything about that night felt wrong.
I choked on every sentence as it forced its way out of my suddenly tightening throat,
pretending that you were not there.
You see, I've spent so much time
pretending you were not there
that I had begun to wonder if maybe,
you were just a nightmare.
Yet here I sat staring my old friends in the eyes,
more focused than anticipated.
They could tell.
You see, it's a small town,
I didn't need to tell everyone what you did for them to find out.
I thought I was doing well until you spoke to me.
The first words you had directly spoken to me in almost
two and a half years.
"I knew I'd see you here."
I blocked out the rest.
I'd like to block you out, too,
but it seems recurring dreams,
nightmares,
are supposed to teach you something.
I'd like this to make sense,
but the only things I ever learned from you
was to never let my guard down again.
To not love that deeply,
deeply enough that I feel forced to do anything
to prove my love.
I learned I should never have to prove my love.
I should never have loved you.

When you sat across from me and spoke my way,
I couldn't help but think I'd never thought I was going to see you again.
I couldn't help but remember every sleepless night,
such as right now,
where I can't help lie awake in fear you somehow know
just what I am doing,
when I have had you blocked on facebook for three years.
But it's a small town.
Word travels, secrets are never truly safe.
Hushed confessions hop eardrum to eardrum
until they're nothing more than a subtle gasp.

When I finally pulled away from the restaurant,
I drove in so many circles that I got lost--
there are only five roads downtown.
When you finally pull away,
maybe I'll sleep for once--
there is only one of you,
and I wish there were
none.

I'm starting
to notice
the
nicotine's
burn

I'm starting
to notice
that
it's the
only
warmth
I feel

Sometimes
I miss
you
and the
warmth
you brought then
and

Sometimes
I miss
summer
and the
endless
blissful nights

But
I'm starting
to notice
the
nicotine's
burn

and honestly
it's more
inviting
than I thought
and
I think
I'll let it
stay

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.

I've been battling my empty heart
by leaving my stomach clean
Honestly it's feeling easier
than it's almost ever been

I've traced the pillow's edge pretending it was your back for some time now,
acting as if you'd been lying beside me this whole time.
Whether sharing a bed with you is plausible or not is still a mystery to me.
I'd always imagined you to be a very warm person,
and I'd like not to have to get more blankets every night.
Lately, though, I'm beginning to think the opposite.
Maybe the bed being cold and empty
is a proper representation of your presence after all.

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

When I opened the Christmas gifts you got for me and vice versa.

On the way out to eat, you looked over your right shoulder just to observe traffic and all I could think about was how clear your eyes were from my view.

Every single time we say goodbye on the phone.

When we were sitting in Qdoba and you grabbed my hands, stared at me, smiled, and chuckled, insisting I was cute.

We were looking at the Waukesha skyline, and as we turned to get back to your car and escape the December cold, you tripped over the last standing Christmas tree that overlooked the city and I laughed hysterically.

When we raced across the Target parking lot and you beat me by a landslide, but you almost knocked a family over as you hardly stopped yourself from running into them.

The first time we ever skyped, my heart stopped as you looked at your whiteboard, doing homework. I still stop myself from saying it, every time you do.

When I was sitting in the passenger seat of your car in the Target parking lot, and you leaned over and kissed me. No warning. Just the kiss. You pulled back and smiled, forehead to forehead. Neither of us said one word.

When you spoke to me in nothing but Dance Gavin Dance lyrics for practically a whole day.

When you told me that this wasn't the relationship you thought it would be. I bit my tongue and held back tears.
I let you vent.
I let you disconnect.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You held my hand as I showed you my deepest of scars,
and I held yours as you did the same.
We each held the moment as though it were to die should we release it.
And because of your grasp, I knew it was a moment worth keeping.

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.

And when he kisses you,
you will not be surprised.
Although the timing was random,
you knew that he wanted to,
and you knew that he would.
His lips will part from yours,
he will smile,
and he will kiss you again.
It won't be soft like the first one.
You will not stop him.
You want this to mean nothing.
As his tongue traces your lips
you will retrace your thoughts,
wondering just when you will tell him
you don't know how to make love
without being in love,
but there is no love here.
When his hands begin to slide under your shirt,
you will not stop him.
You will begin to wonder if you are a tease.
You will begin to wonder how angry he will be,
you are not asking for ***, are you?
This is just a kiss,
A kiss is not consent.
You will realize your heart is racing.
You won't be able to tell what's moving faster,
him or your thoughts.
His hands will travel to your lower half,
and you will pull back from the kiss.
You will want to say something to his face,
but it's already heading downward.
You will not stop him.
Instead,
you will swallow and find yourself conflicted.
You want this to mean nothing.
As he begins to unbutton the denim,
you will realize your breathing is so sporadic
that you're getting lightheaded.
Your body is not getting excited in the way you want it to.
You want this to mean nothing.

It doesn't.

As his breath ghosts over your lower half,
through the remaining fabric,
you realize you chose the word ghost subconsciously
because you know this moment will haunt you.
And when he goes to pull the fabric away,
you will stop him.
He will be confused; he will be flustered.
He will ask you why,
and you will sit up, pull your pants on,
and tell him that you just can't.
He will be mad.
You will drive home with all the windows down,
you want to the wind to blow you away.
You will shower with cold water,
you want something else to send chills down your spine.
And when you finally lay down,
you will pull your blankets tight around you.
You want your body to regain its warmth,
its own warmth.
You want this to mean something,
it does.
You close your eyes,
and you will tell yourself:
"I make love to myself every day.
I wash my hair, I brush my teeth.
I drink water even though I hate it.
I sing along to songs in the car.
I watch the sky change colors at night.
I draw pictures of animals,
I take pictures of the sun.
I wake up.
God ******, I wake up.
I am my own best friend.
I am here, and I am not alone.
I have me.
This is all I will ever need,
and I mean it."

There is no end, only continual progress.
To push us forward with the current.
To lose us in the stream.
The flow will envelope you, it will drown you in its ups and downs.
You will feel your lungs fill until you cannot breathe.
This is not achieving, this is not winning.
This is progressing, this is surviving.
You are gasping for the air that is escaping your lungs,
it looks for security, for safety,
because it knows you are not.

Disheveled and groggy, I wake to your smile as you calmly run your hand over your face.
Tired eyes meet mine and I welcome you.
I grasp my pillow when I am urged to hold you;
You are not mine.
Your eyes are focused on your phone and impulse begs me to take it,
throw it to the side,
and kiss you.
It beckons me to distract you from the hectic that has been your recent days.
I clench my pillow.
You turn your attention to me and ask what the matter is.
The anger dissipates from your clouded eyes when landing on me.
As dim as the room is, it reminds me of moonlight.
Soft, embracing.
Instead of responding, I trace the flames on your right forearm.
In this moment, I am warm.
You do not further in asking, instead you lean your head against mine and let out an exasperated sigh.
My free hand clenches my pillow.
Inside I am imploring,
"I want to love you how she never could.
"I want to love you purely.
"I want to love you wholesome."
Instead, I softly press my lips against the tattoo I was tracing.
Your fingers loosely find their way to mine, and we lay.
Quietly,
Comfortably.
I recite the moment I kiss your lips.
I plan it, step by step.
Perfectly.
Doubt drowns me out and while our lips are mere inches apart,
this is not the moment I will close the gap.
I instead bring my eyes to yours and scream every emotion I am feeling.
You grin softly at me and lay your head down, closing your eyes.
I lazily drape an arm across your chest and you drift off with an arm around me.
As you drift away to the sleep you **** well deserve,
I whisper all of the things I'd never tell
you
while you
were
awake.

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.

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 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.

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.

"What are you so sad about?" My father asks me, sitting in the driver’s seat of his 30,000 dollar truck.
I sigh and look out the window. “I don’t know.” I reply, rather snottily.
He continues to rant about how I have so many things going for me,
Yet I see nothing.
He points out my talent in acting,
I point out my lack there of.
He points out my pretty face,
I point out how it has no effect in the lack of people I have to depend on.
He points out my drawing and art “skills”,
I point out my sister’s countless awards while I have none.
Reasons to be sad aren't always material.
Reasons to be sad shouldn't be small and trivial things,
But when I wake up and can’t fix my hair just the right way,
I get self-conscious about my entire appearance and mope about it all day.
Call me a ***** if you will.
But I know I am weak, and these days, I am wearing thin.
Like my pencil to paper as I scribble down another forty lines of a poem I will never read aloud.
All of my friends have their own problems, yes.
We all have problems of our own.
But for some reason, whenever I help someone else with theirs,
I feel worse about myself.
Perhaps I’m simply that pathetic, or perhaps I’m ungrateful like my father insists.
At least I do not claim “cars are not replaceable, people are.”
So when my sister cries about a friend from the internet that has killed them self, do not whine when she refuses to confront you after you have told her they were not a real friend.
When my sister asks you not to approach her in the store as you yell relentlessly about things that should not even matter,
Such as the sock she left in the hallway after bringing her laundry to her room,
Do not retaliate with a fist.

When I leave the house,
Yes, house, not home,
The first thing I think about is whether or not my sister will be safe in the same house as you.
Especially when the last time she was there and I was not,
She earned a scar for something she never did.

All I've been thinking about the last week is how you promised that
Under any circumstances, leaving was never an option.
Still, I'm glad you did, seeing as I never would have realized
That I was causing you such trauma.
I'm so sorry, because you never deserved anything like that.
Not from the person you loved.

Just so we're clear, I still love you,
Although I'm not sure if it's in the same way as before.
Maybe it's just the fact that our connection made us inseparable,
Even on our worst days.
Sometimes I wonder if I just love you as a person now.

Regardless, I wish the best for you and everything you do.
Every day has made me realize what mistakes I made.
In case of you reading this and  
Considering the promises we once made each other, I
Hope you can move on from them to someone better than I,
Or maybe even come back when I'm more mature.
Looking back, I'd just like to remind you;
Dear, you're lovely, and deserve the world... and that wasn't me.

It feels as though your eyes have stopped being a door,
as though I've stopped seeing your true intentions.
I love you incessantly still,
and as of recent,
I feel as though I'm staring into a mirror.
I only see myself in you.
That scares me,
as I'm not exactly the person I'd like to be.
Yet I always say to love yourself.
So maybe,
this is when I learn how.

"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.

Some nights,
I think the few extra bites I take are helping me get better.

Some nights,
I look at the clock and realize it's already four in the morning and I'm nowhere near tired,
so I smoke another cigarette.

Some nights,
I wish that instead of lying in my empty bed,
I was lying in yours.

Some nights,
I allow myself to accept that I am not what you need,
and therefore,
I will not be yours.

Some nights,
I finally do sleep,
and I dream that I am everything you need,
and I wake up next to you,
and it's more than just a quick goodbye.

Some nights,
I think I'm better off alone.

Some nights,
I wonder if I will ever get out of this rut that I have been stuck in,
for however many years it has been,
and finally be good enough for someone.

Some nights,
I finally start to convince myself that I was good enough all along,
and maybe you were never enough
for me.

as I lie awake beside you,
and you allow sleep to qualm your stresses from the day,
I'm suddenly very aware of the pillow underneath my head
and note how it feels nothing like my head on your chest.
I do not mind the firmness of your muscles,
or the heartbeat that echoes beneath my ear.
your warmth does what this overpriced spaceheater never could,
but still I keep my distance.
fear of getting too close almost rivals claustrophobia, in a sense.
I long to overcome the worries of having nowhere to go but your arms,
but I fear everything may crumble should I try to overcome it.
I do not want to push.
the walls are closing in on you,
and you insist I stay away.
I would take the risks and hold you closer
but I fear my arms would be too reminiscent of the world swallowing you.
i do not want to panic.
I do not want you to push back.
so I keep my distance.
so I lie awake beside you,
cursing my pillow for not feeling like your chest.
I worry the space between us under covers is not enough,
and if the couch is a better home for my worry.
you deserve the bed to yourself tonight.
though this room is vast and I cannot fight the chill this space heater can never seem to pummel,
I know I should not get too close.
while my fear is being alone,
that is what you long to be.

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 dreamt that you said you're sorry.
You felt bad for being so indecisive,
you decided to be serious.
You flew in from Babylon.
The second you saw me,
you held me tight.
They say you never experience emotions
you've never felt in reality
in a dream,
but I'm trying to figure out when in my life
I felt so much love.
I'm trying to remember someone in my life
that I never wanted to let go of that badly.
I feel as though your arms around me
protected me from everything that ever could have happened.
There was an overflow of emotions as you kissed me,
and I swear on it,
I've never been kissed like that to know
who would have done it in reality.
The rest was a montage of us being in love.
The rest was all I've ever wanted.
But just as every dream ends,
I woke up.
I woke up smiling,
but I woke up alone.
I woke up emptier
than I've been in weeks.
I woke up without you
lying next to me.

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.

Give me a reason to hate you.
Everyone's been pointing out flaws,
yet I'm banking on the maybe that you can prove them wrong.
I can't live in this back and forth cycle of
being all that you want,
and nothing at all.
I sit here listening to you sing and it fills up my empty,
but I guess I've been your nothing for a while now.
Now she's in your bed
and suddenly, I'm no longer in your head.
It seems I'm only on your mind
when there can be no one else instead.
People have stopped asking about you.
They used to be able to tell when I thought about you.
I think they still can.
Maybe, that's why they stopped asking.
They used to tell me to fly out tomorrow,
but now,
they're telling me I need to get laid.

Give me a reason to hate you.

I'm trying to find one now,
but when I look at you,
all I see is cocoa eyes.
And though diabetes runs in the family,
I think you're sugar free.
It's been **** near six months
and this bitter taste you've left hasn't faded,
even though you have.
It seems all signs that once pointed your direction
have turned away,
the last one being this ******* connection
that just won't fade.

I was in a car accident last month.

As the car spun, I saw your face.

I called to tell you that I loved you,

and you sent me to voicemail.

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.

god ****** you are so beautiful, you're like a walking piece of art

and as someone who loves art
and has seen **** like van gogh's starry night in person
or monet's water lilies
or any of beth cavener's sculptures
you are so ******* unique
and breathtaking
I can't get over you
I never want to have to
you're as priceless as salvator mundi
and I feel so ******* lucky to have even gotten a glimpse of you

I've always been
the impatient kind,
but for you,
I'd wait a lifetime.

Four years ago today you walked into my life.
Four years ago today, I had never known love.
Four years ago today, I had never known the fear of losing someone.
Four years ago today, I had never known the fear of staying with someone.
Four years ago today, I had never known the fear of being touched.
Four years ago today, I had never known you'd never let me say no.
Four years ago today, I had never known the nightmare of love.
Four years ago today, I was innocent.
Four years later, you showed me how to doubt.
Four years later and I still panic when asked about you.
Four years later, you're still haunting me.
Four years later and you still call my name.
Four years later and I'm still so scared.
Four years of this.
Four years.

I guess
I would
rather
lose
sleep
than
lose
you.

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

for the first time in my life
i was certain love existed
but as quickly as i fell for you
you proved me wrong

I
used
to
cut
when
I
would
disconnect,

but
now
I
think
I'm
hurting
you
instead.

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.

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.

I'm forever in awe with how you change my mood completely.
I've learned not to let people do this, not to let them affect my mood.
But *******, your laugh makes my heart swell, it fills up the empty.
And when you look at me, I feel it again.
I feel the floating, my feet are hardly touching the ground.
When you play me my favorite songs as a surprise,
I can hardly see because it's hard to keep my eyes open when I'm smiling so wide.
****,
all I need is your voice saying my name and my heart's a pro boxer,
my ribs are its punching bag, giving meaning to the words heartBEAT.
And *******, do I love you.
I have since day one, and I think I will forever.

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.