he told me i took away his anxiety.
he told me i fixed him,
made him happy.

then he said losing me
did it better.
like i was the problem
all along.

does he know how cruel that sounds?
how deep it cuts?

i am not his cure.
i am not his sickness.
i am not the reason he broke
or the reason he healed.

i was just a person.
and he made me feel like nothing.

you’re not posting on hello poetry anymore.
you’re not reading my words,
not twisting them,
not waiting for me to say your name.

i don’t have to write around you now.
i don’t have to fear your eyes
dragging through every line.

it’s strange,
but freeing
to know my poems are mine again.

no one to talk to
during my break at work
no one to tell me
im doing a good job
that they’re proud of me
is anyone proud of me anymore?
am i really doing a good job?
i wish i could talk to you right now
you used to tell me all those things
and more

right
okay

the thing about my trust issues
is that i wasn’t always like this.
once, i gave myself freely,
naive enough to think loyalty was permanent.

but betrayal is a slow teacher.
it comes in waves,
each one stronger,
until i stopped reaching for the surface.

i have a friend twelve hours ahead.
that’s as close as i’ll ever let someone again.

the implications:
i will never believe in forever.
i will smile and nod
but choke on every kindness.
i will see love as a countdown,
watching the clock
until it ruins me.
and no one will ever know
how much it hurts
to be this unreachable.

there is a hole in my heart
and it’s shaped like you

1.  your grades will not be the hardest part.
they stay steady
because you make them steady.
you sacrifice sleep, meals,
whole pieces of yourself
to keep the numbers perfect.
it isn’t luck,
it’s discipline carved into your bones.

2. friends.
there might not be many,
and that’s okay.
you’ve learned to be your own anchor,
to carry your own silence.
you are enough company
for yourself.

3. stay gentle when you see him.
in crowded halls,
in music rooms,
in classes where you can’t move away.
you don’t have to smile,
you don’t have to speak,
but let him have his peace.
he doesn’t have to take care of you now,
and maybe that’s a kind of freedom
for you both.

4. surviva
that’s the word this year.
not glory, not magic,
not the “best four years”
they promised.
just survival.
walk each day
like it’s the last bridge
between you and freedom.
because it is.

my poems were never
for you.
not for your defense,
not for your approval,
not for you to pick apart
like you know the story.

you see a boy,
i see years of myself.
you see a hero,
i see someone tangled in choices
neither of us could control.
you see an ending,
i see wounds still open.

don’t mistake my grief
for an attack.
don’t mistake my honesty
for jealousy.
i write to breathe,
to survive,
to stay.

so no,
i won’t be quiet.
this is my voice.
you can cover your ears
if you want,
but you’ll never take it from me.

no no,
you misunderstand.
i don’t mean to hurt anyone.
i only want to hurt myself.

but that’s exactly my problem,
isn’t it?
i try to help everyone,
but they all end up hurt even more.

i always wondered
why he never wears sunglasses.
it’s like he’d rather stare into the sun
than hide his golden eyes.

he’s a quiet boy,
but he wants to be heard,
even when it’s scary.
even when they don’t understand.

he tries, sometimes,
to reach old friends
who can’t see him.
why does he do that?

he drinks those energy drinks again,
i know he shouldn’t.
i’m not there to stop him,
he can do whatever he wants.

his laugh still makes me
smile for a second,
until i remember
he’s not laughing for me.

track one: the smallest man who ever lived
you are what you did.
i replay the line,
pretend it isn’t true.
“but you are what you did. i’ll forget you, but i’ll never forgive…”

track two: i told you things
my secrets sit in your hands,
burning me from miles away.
“i told you things that i never said to anybody else. i regret them.”

track three: death by a thousand cuts
i count them in the mirror.
each day without you is another slice.
“but i’ll be alright, it’s just a thousand cuts.”

track four: spring into summer
i hate myself for it,
but I keep running back,
barefoot, blistered.
“i’m forever running back to you.”

track five: labyrinth
they say the hurt will fade,
but right now is forever.
“it only hurts this much right now, is what i was thinking the whole time.”

track six: gave you i gave you i
i’m sick,
but still i reach for the phone.
always one call away from ruin.
“i’ve been feeling sick, but i should help myself not call you.”

track seven: ivy
you started a war
i didn’t know how to fight.
now the smoke is all i breathe.
“so yeah, it’s a war, it’s the ******* fight of my life and you started it.”

track eight: waiting room
i’m still wishing.
you’re still gone.
“and i can wish all that i want, but that won’t bring us together.”

two girls
writing poetry for you.
one girl broken,
one girl whole.
one girl me,
one girl her.

i still love you.

but i don’t think i like who you’re becoming.

i’m finally seeing clearly.

no space in my mind
you are only a haiku
it’s all you deserve

i have never,
and will never,
love someone the way i love you.

and i still love you,
of course i do.
it’s only been a week.

you’ve consumed my thoughts,
woven yourself into my dreams,
trampled over every piece of progress.

you told me you loved me.
i believed you.
you did too.
was it ever true?

your new girl seems lovely,
kind, understanding,
everything i’ll never be.

but sean,
it’s only been a week.
a week.
it’s only been a week.

i must be easy to get over.
a few days for you,
an eternity for me.
i’m one week into forever.

don’t ask for warmth from me now.
i’m cold, broken,
drowning beneath
while you float above.

you think i left again,
that i never meant what i said.
but we wouldn’t be here
if you hadn’t done those things,
your freshman year, my sophomore.

sean.
it’s only been a week.

no matter what i earn,
the voice inside insists
i don’t deserve it.

i hold the pit book in my hands,
but it feels borrowed,
like it belongs to someone
better, brighter,
not me.

he’s always there,
ahead by a step,
without trying.
districts. jazz. first chair.
i don’t need him to say it.
he makes sure i already know.
despite everything i’ve achieved,
he believes he’ll always be better.

i tell myself it isn’t about him,
but the truth is
i don’t believe
i will ever measure up,
to him,
to anyone,
to myself.
i will always be inferior.

the only time my mind is quiet
is when i’m playing the sax—
no pressure,
no expectations,
just me
and the solo i’m transcribing.

the melody spins in my head,
questions about the sharps, the flats,
why did he add these?
i know it’s purposeful,
but i can’t tell you why,
not yet.

i’ll ask doc when i see him at school.
he’ll laugh, maybe explain,
but i still won’t understand.
he keeps asking if i’m okay,
and i wonder,
what would happen if i told him the truth?

yesterday, he said i’m a good person.
i don’t know why he said that.
but the sax keeps spinning,
quiet, steady, my only answer.

thank you for the jazz,
lester young,
there truly will never be another you.

it’s a weird feeling
to find out that he didn’t mean it
all those times
he said he loved you.
oh, we both thought he meant it.
but it doesn’t take
just a few days
to get over us.
frankly, i think i’ll be sad for the rest of my life.

if you find these words,
please,
don’t carry them back to him.

what i write here
isn’t for revenge,
or to make him guilty.

it’s the only place
i can empty the ache
without breaking apart.

so let me keep this corner,
let me keep this voice.
it’s not for you,
and it’s not for him.

it’s just for me,
the only way i know
to keep breathing.

you told me i was the quiet
in your storm,
that my voice alone
could steady your shaking.

i held that weight,
thinking it was love,
thinking i was enough.

but now i watch you
hand the same words
to someone else,
like love is something
you can reuse.

and maybe she believes you,
like i once did.
but i know now
you don’t want love,
you want a place to rest your fear.

and when she can’t hold it,
like i couldn’t,
you’ll move on again,
searching for the next cure.

so ******* immature

i didn’t even get to tell you.
it’s confirmed—
i’m gonna be playing in the pit of footloose.
i should be happy about it,
i’m pretending i am,
but really,
i’m terrified.
i thought you’d be here.
i’ve never been so alone.

i want to die,
but i can’t.
i won’t.
not yet.
i need more courage,
more strength.

what would it feel like to stop hurting?

the room bent at the corners,
walls breathing in and out.
everyone i loved was there,
but their faces flickered,
like static on a broken screen.

i held a glass cup.
it pulsed in my hand,
warm, alive.
i knew if i moved even slightly,
it would split open.

and it did.
not shattering,
but unfolding,
splinters sliding into my skin
like they belonged there.

i tried to cry out,
but my voice came out in glass,
sharp shards that cut the air
before falling at my feet.

i whispered,
“i don’t know what i did,”
“this really hurts,”
but they only smiled,
eyes blank as mirrors.

their mouths opened wide
and spoke in one voice:
“we don’t see what you see.”

and for a moment
i saw him in the corner,
the one i still love
even though love has gone sour.
he didn’t speak,
just watched me bleed,
his silence heavier
than any shard in my skin.

then i looked again,
and my hands were gone.
only blood and light
spilled from where they should’ve been.

and in the glow of it,
everyone raised their cups,
whole, gleaming,
as if nothing had ever broken.

falling asleep with
towels wrapped around my wrist
and blood stains on my blankets.
no one will know, though.
it’s a hard thing to admit,
but i wish they would.
maybe they would show me empathy.
but it’s fine,
i’ll keep being strong until i can’t anymore,
and when that happens,
everyone will know.

i can feel myself
becoming obsessed
with the absence of him.

refresh,
check again,
scroll,
wait.

he isn’t writing.
it’s not often when he does.
still, i claw through silence,
digging with ****** fingers
for something
left behind.

it feels pathetic.
i feel pathetic.
but the need
outweighs the shame.

so i check again.
and again.
and again.

best thing to do? forget about me

i don’t know what to do,
blood is all over my sheets,
spilling out of my wrist.
i wish you were here.

someone told me that
you and i posted
the same song
on our instagram note.
i didn’t know,
i unfollowed you.
it was sort of funny,
but i was the one
who showed you that song.
that song is mine.
but fine,
we can share it if we must.

i wonder if you hate me,
and i wonder if you think
i deserve these cuts.
they hurt.

remember—
i still love you,
even though i act like i don’t.
don’t forget that
when i delete you from my life,
when i choke on silence,
when i tear myself away
like skin from bone.

i loved you,
and it gutted me.
i couldn’t hold it
without bleeding,
couldn’t stay
without breaking.

so i left.
so i’ll look like i don’t care,
like you never mattered,
like the fire burned out.

but it didn’t.
it’s still clawing at my ribs,
still screaming under my skin.
and if i ever seem cold,
it’s only because
the heat of you
was killing me.

you rot me from the inside out,
and you don’t even notice.

every step you take
tramples something i built.
every laugh you spill
drowns mine out.

you ruin every little thing i do.
my wins turn to ashes
the second you breathe near them.
you poison the air
and call it perfume.

i am not doing well.
but of course you wouldn’t see that.
why look at me
when the mirror worships you?

zoe,
you don’t try.
you don’t care.
and still,
you break me open
just by being here.

i don’t know
i don’t know
why i feel this
why it won’t stop
why i can’t fix it
why it is me
i don’t know
all i know is i don’t know