Listening to you twirling in the kitchen
singing songs in made-up languages
laughing at jokes you haven't made yet
and I wonder,
my sweet little girl,
with the fire in your soul,
and the freedom in your eyes...

What will break you first?

When will you stop dancing with abandon?
When will you stop singing in the hallways?
When will the house grow quiet,
because the first boy broke your spirit,
when he broke your heart.

What will be the first thing you don't tell me?
Will it be the boy you couldn't say no to?
Or the one you thought you shouldn't have to say it to.
Will you be too afraid to tell me?
Will you worry that I'll think terrible things
Will I?

I wonder,
who will be the first boy you change everything for?
Will you know it's happening?
Will you try to stop it,
but follow through,
because the love feels real,
and the love has to be worth it.
And when he breaks you, again
will you believe him when he says it's your fault?
When he tells you that you broke this,
when he tells you that you should've
been better,
been prettier,
been smarter,
talked less,
talked more,
been less emotional,
tried harder,
****** better...

Will you believe him,
when he tries to tell you
that you existed for him and failed?
Or will you know that he can't be right,
because you existed without him,
and you'll exist again.

Will you exist again,
without him?
Will you know who you are with him,
and without him...
Will there be a day where you stop knowing the difference?

How many men will break you,
before you settle for the one who is safe?
The one who convinces you that you can be a better person,
takes whatever you had left,
strips you of who you could've been,
before letting you down, all the same.
How long will it take for the inspiration he sparked in you to fade?
Will you know to walk away?
Will you be braver than I was?
Will you be brave.
Will you.

Be brave.

I’d like to think that this ends
much like a dying star.
That it burns and boils with fury and passion
until one day it implodes into itself,
in a beautiful spectacle of cosmic mourning.

But there’s a feeling in my soul
a quiet, dreadful haunting
that this dies uneventfully.
Like the anticlimactic withering of the last flowers before the frost.
That one day
we just realize it’s been awhile,
but neither one of us really has anything to say.
And the final petals fall
without anyone really noticing
at all.

There once was a boy
who told me they must have cried when I left home,
"I bet the entire state cried for you."
He'd said.
"because a girl like you must be once in a lifetime,"
and he'd keep me around if it killed him..
he'd promised.
"After all, girl.
he'd said
I'm a snake charmer.."
And at that, he had rolled up his sleeve,
to reveal the grayscale serpent baring it's fangs,
wrapped around his forearm.
He made that joke a lot.
Over he course of falling for me.
"Don't forget, babe.."
"I'll break a girl like you eventually.."
And I'd laughed and wish him the best of luck,
after all,
that's the polite thing to do,
in scenarios like these.
He would go on to tell me,
that he knew what to do
with a "body like mine."
He would make them wish they had never let me leave.
Whatever the ****,
he'd thought that meant.
And I let him believe that,
until the day that he didn’t.
Because really,
from the beginning,
we both knew no one was crying over me.

I had never noticed that bar before,
the one hidden amongst the neon signs.
I'm sure I'd driven by a hundred times
over the course of nights
I spent stumbling down those streets..
I'm sure I'd even looked at it once or twice,
unable to make out the name
or the sign on the door..
Just passed that alleyway
in the pursuit of other things.
So when I met you there,
I was apprehensive,
hands shaking,
heart pounding,
in anticipation of what you would want me to be.
Anxious of who you would think I was,
after a "couple of drinks"
on a Friday afternoon..
And my hair was a mess,
in a faded Biggie shirt,
and a pair of converse I'd worn since the tenth grade,
but could never seem to throw away
because they had meant something then,
so they must mean something now..
Because I'd worn the soles out
sneaking back into my parents’ house,
after my virginity was stolen,
tripped over the laces the morning my father had held my hand,
as he walked me into rehab and told me to be brave..
And the first time I was brave enough to see that headstone,
when I’d sobbed alone in the pouring rain,
and they filled with water through the holes in the sides.
They had been there.
Every time my heart had shattered,
so no matter what,
Capital Ave couldn't be too bad.

I told everyone
that you were dead.
I accepted their condolences.
Smiled politely,
while my chest hemorrhaged.
Somehow,
that just made sense.

I was doing just fine.
I didn’t miss you.
Not at all.  
Didn’t want to call you.
Or text you.
Or even see that stupid smile...

Then I saw something that made me laugh.  
Drove past a place we had talked about.  
Saw a commercial about a joke you made once.
Heard a song that you had mentioned.
Did something awkward, I’d usually tell you about.
Went to work.
Ran on a treadmill.
Put on those jeans you liked.
Closed my ******* eyes...

And there you were.

What the ****
am I doing.
And why can’t I
quit you?



...why don’t I want to?