I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

I would tell her that this is how you die by distance even being so close.
I would tell her "Hey lover, do you remember me? Maybe you don't, but let me introduce myself and we'll see...".
I would tell her that it's the third time I try to quit smoking, but this is another addiction that will remain. We all need something to prevent us from going insane.
I would tell her that "You can leave, you can always leave, come with me and let's catch a train". I would tell her that "You can come back, you can always come back, that's what a house is, a shelter from pain".
I would tell her that the memory of her rough voice undresses my memories.
I would tell her that her laugh sounds like those perfectly designed sweet melodies.
I would tell her that we are always afraid of each other even when we're not. We are more afraid of being together than of being apart.
I would tell her she doesn't have to believe in her every single thought.
I would tell her that I tried to stop writing about her but everything that comes out of me are love poems and death sighs.
I would tell her that I know everytime that she cries, I can feel it in me, when she lays at night choking in all her lies.
I would tell her that being empty comes with a big price.
I would tell her that I'm mad at her for making it so hard to leave.
I would tell her that I know what she hides behind that sleeve, many scars from all the people that still can make her grieve.
I would tell her that I love her through music, through literature, through nature, through everything my eyes touch...because everything reminds me of her, because I will always love her so so much.
I would tell her that I think she's the most majestic creature.
I would tell her that connections like this are rare so there's no need to be afraid. And maybe I'll need her to tell me the same.
I would tell her that after all this time, I wish she stayed. Or do I wish I stayed?
I would tell her that I never want to say goodbye because everytime she smiles I feel like she cracks open the sky.
I would tell her that this is for her and everyone else who reads this is just a stranger looking through a window at us.
I would tell her...
If I ever met her.

Poor girl.
In love with Poet.

Poet and man; angry at times;
Firing insults you can't

Possibly
Counter.

Beating you black and blue
With flowers
And feathers.

Poor girl.
Loved by Poet.

Loved and held closest;
First to fall victim

To every sudden movement
In matters of hearts
And hands.

it's three in the morning and my thoughts are a blur
i wish i could say that your eyes aren't on my mind
but they are
they always will be.
whether i'm at the park under my favorite tree
or in the library
you'll always be there
flooding my thoughts
reminding me of all the reason why i don't just run away
like i always seem to end up doing.
it's easiest that way.
having nothing to hold on to
makes it easier for when you have to let go
and that's all i've ever had to do.
let go
always letting go

Please keep in mind, I've lost my glasses
and can't see very well right now.
So sorry if I miss your clear annoyance
or mistake your rejection for acceptance.

I can't find my glasses
sorry if I don't make much sense.
Everything's quite blurry
and turned well into nonsense.

And I know the rhyming in this poem
isn't very good at all.
But you see, I've lost my glasses
and can't see very well right now.