It’s been 3 days since I last spoke to you, and I waited until now to write this because I wanted to make sure that I would be ok. I’m finally starting to realize that I don’t need you and soon I will hope that I don’t want you. Your words remain echos in my brain as I scratch myself clean of any wounds you may be leaving. The distance you've created is finally allowing me to see clearly that what we had was detrimental.

I spent nights thinking about your hands in mine, and days thinking about your lips on mine, and hours thinking about your words with mine, you told me that you loved me and I was foolish to believe you.

I’m telling myself I don’t need you and soon I will not want you. But even as I write this I send out prayers of SOS in hopes that you’ll throw me a life jacket.

I am reminded that I was beautiful before you told me so, and I will remain beautiful as you walk away from me. I did not give you everything for fear of being empty and look how it all turned out.

I need to realize that it would not be different if I had sold myself to you. I need to realize that if I had been more willing to give you the key, you would have swallowed it and left me chained to your words.

What we had was not love, what we had was not love, what we had was not love, I need to remind myself.

Love is a two way emotion, I cannot love you if you only lust me. You told me you’re “not that kind of guy” but look who walked away without a second glance.

What we had was not love, what we have is not love, what he gave me was not love and I should not feel obligated to set myself on fire to keep him warm.

-h.w.

We grew up
Quickly
Wishing to be older
Wanting nothing more
Than freedom
16 meant driver's license
18 meant cigarettes
And 21 was left for liquor
For gambling
And finally calling yourself
A grown up

It was his birthday
A few weeks ago
The age
We spend our whole lives
Waiting to be
And he came so close
To being it

21
It has been
Half a year
Since his leaving
So abrupt in its presence
Death has a way
Of shaking you
Waking you up
Only to have you fall back asleep
Again
And forget about it
It's hard to remember someone is gone
When you don't see them
Everyday
Loss is funny like that

21
You look through the texts
On your phone
Years back
You didn't know him well
But you knew him
And past tense feels strange
Knowing these kinds of things
Are permanent

21
Your best friend
Introduced you
That night in September
Spent filling lungs with smoke
I think it was a high holiday
The four of you
Laughing over nothing
The irony of it all
Kills me

21
She loved him
Still does

21
Taking hits
Escalates
Into much more
One time
Is all it takes

21
It is his birthday
The first
Without him here
He can finally do
All of the things
We've been doing for years
In secret
In hushed voices
And in hiding from our parents
Except now it is legal
Now it is allowed
Now it is okay
But it is not okay

He is 21
And he is not here
To celebrate

He is 21
And his mother
Is pouring a glass of wine
Alone

He is 21
And his birthday wishes
Sound more like condolences
There are words of grief
Instead of cheers
His facebook
Is a collection of memories
And emotions
He will not be forgotten
We swear

21
We grew up
Wishing to be older
Wanting nothing more
Than freedom
Age may not liberation
But neither
Is death

21
Make sure
To have a drink
For him.

Remember
my body is not your temple
do not worship there
I am not a deity
I am not a holy place
I have many sins, many scars, many demons

My heart is not your home
You have no claim
Learning the secrets I have locked away in darkest corners of my person is a privilege
Do not take my willingness to let you explore me for granted

My love is a gift
it is wrapped in the battered letters that I wrote to my last lover before he left the shattered remains of my heart behind in a wooden box
Be gentle when you unwrap what is left of me
I have only just begun putting myself back together

Here are some things I know:
2+2 is always 4, in the center of an apple lies the core.
One foot is left and the other is right, you need lots of wind to fly a kite.
Puppies are soft and the earth moves slow, red means stop and green means go.
Clouds are white, the sky is blue, and I am absolutely, completely, in love with you.

You can't give love
only to take it back
but I swallow words
like pills these days

and the side affects
have no warning label
and overdosing is
too often fatal

Poetry is the heartbeat of life;
Each poem develops us from existence to experience.
It is the answer to all forms of strife,
For every single word written
Delivers an unspoken truth by the giver.
It acts as if it is the logic behind literature
A fire driven by the desire of every creature.
To make up the pavement on the road less traveled by,
To not just gather roses but make use of them,
To realize that the fault is not in the stars, but in us,
To not be resigned in living a life of quiet desperation.

Robert Frost, Robert Herrick, William Shakespeare and Henry David Thoreau,
They are noble men.
They are poets.
They have understood that poetry sustains life.

Poetry is a noble pursuit.
It is needed to sustain life
Thus it develops us to a greater form of humans
We are slaves to its will
For we merely not write poetry;
For it is poetry which writes us.

An Ode To Poets,
To honour them for their noble deeds.
An Ode To Poets,
To live by their noble deeds.

I've always been told
That you should never let go
Of a person
Who can see the sadness
Behind your smile
And hear your screams
When you are silent

Three years it has been
Since I was introduced
To a person
Who rapidly became
My other half,
My panda child,
My best friend.
Up until then,
I was forever surrounded
By small talk
And friends without meaning

Through all the
*******
And
Heartbreaks,
She had been there
Along with
All the petty
Events inbetween
And
I know
In my coffee
And
Cacti
Scented soul
That she will
Continue to do so
For a very,
Very,
Long time.

And one day,
She is going to arrive home
To a place and a person
She loves
And then she will understand
That dying
Isn't necessary
In order to
Go to heaven.
And
If a boy ever
Borrows her heart
And returns it infected
I will personally
Destroy
What's left
Of his sad
Little
Life.
Because
Knowing her,
She will give him everything
And he **** well
Better do the same.

Brooke Roman,
You are beautiful
And I hope you enjoy this poem
That doesn't really make much sense
But
I thought it was necessary
Because
You mean the world to me
And
I would not be here
If you had not come
And saved me
And
You can truly say
You appreciate beauty
Because
You've continously stopped
To pick up the pieces
Of my insecurities
That self-identify
To a beer bottle
Smashed onto a rock
Probably by my father

You are perfect
And
I love you
More than I love coffee
And pizza
And that's saying something.