Sometimes I think you got the worst of me. A product of emotional abuse, a consequence of all my longing, the effect of both trauma and growing older. I wish there had been a forewarning, that I could’ve prepared myself for the time I really met you. I was high and sad and alone and I don’t want you to think of me as sad. But I was tired and frail and full of so much anger and resentment. I never looked more like my mother. You don’t know me; the dreamer, or me; the happy girl dancing in her room to music I know you’d like. He never liked my taste in music. And I think of a way to prove it to you, to somehow show you I am more than the culmination of everything he’s put me through. but I don’t know how to make someone believe in a me they’ve never seen exist. And I wonder if my life is now going to be a product of all the hurt you saw in me. I wonder if I’ll ever actually be brave, because brave girls don’t stay when he says mean things. I think I would’ve left if you asked me to, but I know there’s only so much a person can do with someone full of pain before they’re consumed by it. I can be better, I promise.
We planned seven ways to spend the rest of our life the night we met
I borrowed your passenger seat and the inside of your palms
And I still know your hands beneath the blankets, fingers searching for mine
Los Angeles isn’t cold in June but any excuse to be closer to you
somehow 2,000 miles never tainted the longing I had to know you better
You kept a toothbrush by her sink and our phone calls a secret
Grief comes, unaware of the distance
It makes my knees weak and face hot at the thought of my ignorance
Because it wasn’t a moment of weakness, and it wasn’t a mistake
It was 6 months of loving someone who belonged to someone else, blissfully unaware of my fate
Anger turns to sadness turns to anger again
And I know the scars from biting my tongue will heal
And I know my name tastes bitter in your mouth
And I know I’m not the one to blame
The most beautiful part of me is where I’m headed, and it’s a shame you’ll never get to meet me there
I know it may be an unusual time for a love poem.
But rain is hitting the roof tiles like piano keys,
the scent of coffee beans wakes me up slowly, and somehow, you make me feel innocent again.
I wince at all of the versions of me that have led to present tense.
But somehow, I already know you won’t mind.
I won’t tell you yet about where I’ve been
but you’ll smile when I say I think winter is the prettiest time to watch things grow.
How unexpected, you and the flowers both.
If I stripped all of my prettiness away and showed you the darkest parts of my heart
would you still want to stay?
It’s exhausting trying so hard to be liked.
I want to be loved.
And for more than just the way I look naked and tangled in hotel sheets.
If I fall in love with the comfort of having you around and you fall in love with the shape of my body in your bed what do we really have?
Paint a picture of our lives thirty years from now and what do we have but dried up lust and wrinkles on our forehead?
Ours is not the rocking chairs and coffee on our front porch kind of fondness.
It’s the late nights and two bottles of wine and the dragging our feet to ripping the band-aid off because we both know where it’s headed.
I'm getting comfortable with coming home to myself
I can turn right at the stop sign onto my street and I don't miss the times you were waiting there for me
but on Sunday I realized I still have a key to your apartment
and I'm sorry for being the reason you know what losing someone tastes like
there's still two toothbrushes by your sink and I hope we're both coming to terms with the things not meant for us
you deserve more than my hesitations
I'm in the mood to remember you
legs crossed over yours;
I can't see the moon without thinking of the way it looked through your windshield
safety is your locked car in an empty parking lot
and your hands dancing on my shoulder
I trace the lines on my body the way your fingers used to
and dance across the carpet to the songs you used to play
I hope your plans and your future have saved a place for me
I prayed for something softer
I clinged to something simple
but you know me, I'm a hopeless romantic for tragedy
what is love if it doesn't leave me with bruises in the shape of your lips
and longing in the form of closure