our love is sticky
frosting fingers
and our anger is cinnamon sweat.

just before i let go
you asked
do you want to talk about it

i said
i left my lips
on your forehead

what’s to talk about?

they say write what you know
so here it goes -

I know
that i was dying and you left and saying goodbye didn't even come out of your own mouth
I know
i quit a lot of things that day including wanting to live
I know
that if i regained the will to live after that then i can regain the will for anything
I know
that i used my body as a cutting board for your opinions
I know
that you think i gave you my worst and that's why you left
I also know
that if you couldn't handle my worst you can't come back saying sorry and expect me
to give you my best
I know
that i am proud of who i am
I know
that my heart may not be bullet proof but it is fool proof and that makes all the difference
I know
that you are a fool
I know
that losing me was your loss, and it's time
to put on your big boy boxers and deal with the remnants
of a deformed heart and a brainwashed mind
I know
that i did not feel safe as a child or as an adolescent
but that does not mean that i have to feel that way now
I know
that you made me feel judged and unsafe and unloved
and used and worthless
I know
that i don't need you now to feel okay
I know
that forgiving is not forgetting
I know
that i don't forget
I know
that if someone doesn't love you enough to stay with you
then they don't deserve you in the first place
I know
that silence is louder than *******
but that doesn't stop me from writing this anyway
I know that
i'm stronger than your fickle words
and the lack of character and compassion
they reflect.

Drunkenly walk
and dance
and sing
along the sparkling sewers
of Paris.

I knocked my knee on the rod under the table.
I put a runner in my tights.
I licked my finger to wash the wound clean.
It stung for only a second.
Then it was as if it never happened.
The ditsy waitress with the blonde bun and bubblegum
was annoying me with the way she wouldn't pick up her feet.
She had a stupid Chinese tattoo on her wrist,
and like most of the world
she thought she could use a band aid as a cover up,
but nothing that obvious stays hidden that long
without being noticed.
And to top it all off, they burnt my tuna melt.

I got weird looks from people who passed,
catching the 50 Shades of Grey title on my book,
disgusted and pondering why
I would ever hold it up in a family restaurant.
The black man was eyeing me up in the corner.
The lady with the pink lipstick in her teeth thought I was erratic and disturbed.
The businessman thought it was merely for attention,
Well
jokes on them,
I did it just to **** them off.

That's when I looked over at you,
You were eating breakfast and a ****** cup of coffee.
It was 4 in the afternoon.
I could see your Captain America underpants
creeping out of your jeans without a belt.
I could see your eyes judging the newspaper headlines.
You seemed almost as unhappy as me.

So I went over and asked if you dropped the pen
I found in my pocket,
and when you didn't even look up at me to respond
I told you it was just a poor excuse to talk to you.
"I respect that,"
you said between bites of your omelet.
You glanced up at me for only a moment,
blue eyes, **** chin
probably expecting me to leave after the prolonged silence,
but I sat there unchanged,
I don't really pick up on social cues.

"You're pretty hot."
I guess neither do you.
I smiled something creepy, because I don't do it that often,
You didn't seem to mind.
Within two minutes you had me laughing,
saying stuff too loud,
and it was the first time
that I think I actually saw myself,
and I don't really even know you
but somehow, insanely
it feels like I already do.