there's nothing poetic to say i won't beautify my word choice
I AM A MESS AND I NEED HELP
there is nothing good about this pain
I AM NOT OKAY
i do not know how to stop these thoughts and they scare me
please help me i am so lost

loving you
was like having heart burn
on the wrong side of my chest
and doing my best to pretend
that still I felt nothing
in all of the places where
you once touched me

neck
collarbone
the backside of my knees

you destroyed me from the inside out
with such delicacy
that at times
I convinced myself it wasn't even
happening

loving you was a disease
that I wish
I could remember having

but now
I simply
feel
nothing

scream about it if you need to
how you were bleeding on the ground because you were too drunk to stand
and nobody at the party even noticed
or looked up
or you can say it nonchalantly like usual
"i'm really not significant, it kinda suffocates me sometimes,
i'm dumb" you'll spit the words out
and you're forcing a laugh
paint the words on the wall with the blood
from your sloppy wrists
tell them about the day when you were in school
in gym class, shaking because everyone was looking at you
and you knew in the locker room
that they saw the scars that trailed from your hips to your knees
tell them about how you called him and blurted out
that you couldn't get over him
that you missed him uncontrollably and that
was never gonna change
and he said "maybe one day if things change.."
spill your guts,
write about how you haven't had a lover since just in case he chose to come back
you could even paint a picture
of the look on your face when your mother told you
"you're the most ****** up person i can think of,
where did i go wrong?"
write about your drinking habits and the way you
start to feel like you're digging your own grave if you
stay sober for too long
tell us you're not okay
i mean we know,
but tell us anyway

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

remember when you thought love was always a shared feeling?
come on,
tell them about the day you fell on the rocks
and you were too high off the pills he gave you to even get up.
even your own reflection looks unfamiliar,
and tell them you feel out of place in your own body.
all that's left of the old you
is all the graves you dug for the nights you intended
to bury your sorrows alive