I wish things had not turned out this way,
But here we are,
And there is absolutely nothing
I can do about it.
You will never again be perfect to me,
Or even beautiful,
Or kind.
You will never again
Be a person I admire,
And never again
Will I want you back.
I do not miss you,
And I do not love you,
But I do care,
And I always will.

i want to live in your world,
but i don't know how to be.
and art
is just you
letting other people
experience
you.
and i just want the music to be in me,
but i live in it,
and everything matters.
and you only think i'm beautiful
in this moment,
but i want to write a house.
and if you ever need more willpower,
just touch my hand.
everyone creates the world.
you help.

the ice cream truck makes me very sad
because it reminds me of all the things i've lost--
childhood,
innocence,
endless summer,
and you,
my once-upon-a-darling.
and that rainbow snow cone with gum at the bottom
sits heavy in my chest.
not because i want you back,
but because i do not,
and i miss the girl
that would have.

i want to be the girl you prefer.
and i see what you see in her
(even if no one else does)
but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting
when you pick her,
and i walk back alone.
and i know i'm greedy,
selfish,
demanding,
since you're far from my only,
but you are the one i like best
and
i want to be the girl you prefer
(if only for tonight)

all these secrets take me back
to lies and drugs and uncertainty,
to when nothing i said was true
and not even i could trust me.
and i'm so tired of being the girl that ***** your boyfriend
and smiles to your face,
but the attention feels so good,
and i just want your
         (hands, lips, tongue)
eyes on me.
and if that means
i have to lie,
then i guess
i'll always be that girl.

and i don't understand
         (but i want to)
where you go when your eyes get far away
or the shadows in your head when you say
you're not okay,
but i do understand
the way your fingers lace with mine,
the warmth of your skin,
the hungry way you kiss.
i'll never get your jealousy,
but i know love,
and i know loss,
and i want to know you.
and i hope this isn't a pattern
or my insecurity
or my boundary issues manifested,
but then you smile,
and i feel good,
and that's enough
to make me forget
(for now)

and i don't understand how
anyone can be happy when they are alone,
when voices crawl from hidden places,
shadows lick hurrying heels,
the distinctive scent of self-loathing creeps up unbidden,
cloying and sharp.

i don't understand happiness
without someone to build it upon.
i can't grasp the concept
of contentment in solitude.
i don't know how to be okay
in the time between late to bed
and early to rise,
when i pace endlessly
and hope against hope
that someone is awake.

and i want your attention
the way a wound wants a bandage--
urgently
but fleetingly
         and i know i need stitches to heal,
         but at least you staunch the blood flow,
         and if there isn't a mess,
         it's like it never happened,
         even if it
                                    never
                                               stops
                                                            bleeding.