i want to know the story
behind every freckle on your
back and ever scar on your
hands, i want to know how
they stuck with you and i want
to know the story of how
i stuck with you too

my mother was a dental hygienist and dad thinks he's an architect
which means i'm used to sharpened stainless steel exploring the interior of my jawbone and lying to my father to let him keep believing he built me from the ground up.

i am so shattered--
parts of me are
2159 miles away
and i am scared
they will never
come back

i beg for drunk texts like they're diamonds
knowing drunk words
are more valuable than sober
and that later
i'll be high enough to pretend
you sent me them spontaneously
and believe that i'm the one who's truly
on your mind
when it can't even function.

i've broken other peoples' hearts
in a vain attempt to understand
how you broke mine
how you could love me
then leave me
with nothing but a cold shoulder
as a consolation prize

and i still don't understand
because i mourn for those
whose hearts i've broken
and i want to love them
even though i can't

but i'm not a mindreader, so tell me:
did you want to love me or
was leaving really so easy?

i swear to god i'm learning
how to gracefully release
those not meant for me.

but more often than not
my wishful thinking
gets the best of me --

why couldn't you
why couldn't you be meant
why couldn't you be meant for me?

i've found
that life
is easiest to digest
in poetry.