i miss you so much it hurts my whole body.
do you remember when we talked about going to seattle?
you said you liked the rain
and the fact that no one there would know you,
i just wanted to be wherever you were.
i was never afraid of the dark
when you talked about yours.
i still don't have words for what i felt
when you told me the only other number
you had saved in your phone apart from your mother's was mine.
i keep telling myself you're not allowed
to just exit and re-enter my life as you please,
but i leave the door unlocked,
so what does that make me?
the last "i love you" from the last time we spoke,
is still stuck to the roof of my mouth.
other lovers have tried to pry it out of me,
but the memory of you is like lockjaw.
i miss you so much it hurts my whole body.
do you remember the lizard you caught last summer?
you let me name him forrest.
if life is a box of chocolates,
there are pieces missing,
and whatever is left has gone stale.
i can't smoke cigarettes in my backyard anymore
without wondering where you are
or if you're smoking too.
i hope you're not drinking,
i know you hate what it does to you.
your secrets are still tucked between my ribs,
i will hold them safe and repeat them back to you
if you ever lose your way home.
i miss you so much it hurts my whole body.
do you remember when you told me
about the person you were afraid of becoming,
i said i wasn't scared,
and i told you i was proud of you?
i'm still proud of you.
i hope you're in school or at least keeping busy.
i hope you still make yourself laugh.
i miss you so much it hurts my whole body.
do you remember what movie we were watching
the night you got arrested?
i still can't finish it.
i am holding the place.
can we pick up where we left off?
can we stand up and wipe the dust off?
i never got to tell you why i only write in pen,
or why i can't sleep with socks on,
or about the day i caught god with his hands in a public fountain
fishing for change.
i'm not mad at you for disappearing, but i'm lonely.
the only reason i haven't called
is because i'm afraid of being sent straight to voicemail,
but if i ever find myself in indiana again,
you'll be the first to know.

- m.f.

i'm laying on the floor watching YouTube videos
of veterans coming home to their pets
and i imagine you as a veteran
and me as the dog crying in your lap.
but if i'm honest with myself,
i'm the veteran coming home,
my heart is a dog,
and you're a cat in the corner who doesn't give a ****.
i don't even need to tell you that love was the war.
love is always the war.
i just want to lick your face.
i want to paw at your chest after a long day.
i want to stretch and have you scratch the places i can't reach.
i don't understand the command "stay".
i am casting tiny spells where i pick lint off of your sweatshirt
and chew on my bottom lip while i look you in the eye.
but you are disenchanted.

I was ashamed.
Ashamed of the garden growing
between my legs
Ashamed that i had been so
preoccupied with my depression
that i hadn't had time to mow the
lawn, for you,
But you didn't know that.
Neither of us knew it was going to
happen that way
In the greenroom of an educational institution
Where we somehow learnt more
than what
The curriculum asked us to.
I somehow learnt what you
intended to teach me.
and as i wrapped my pudgy fingers
around your manhood,
You disengaged the clasp of my bra.
Asking how something of such
sheer complexity could be
Done by me
Every morning
every night.
I was ashamed.
Ashamed of how my ******* were brown
Like days old bananas
Unlike bright summer berries.
Unlike the ******* of those girls you
watched from the back of the class.
I was ashamed of the cellulite
on my thighs
And i refused to let you see
My big girl body with weeds in the garden.
But you slipped your hand
down my skirt
And asked me if i liked it.
I said yes, i leaned back into you, and i said
Yes;
Yes;
Yes;
over and over and over again
But i felt empty.
Like how you felt after your
string of pearls
Had been released.

When i dropped you off at the door,
You did not hug me.
When i tried to hold you hand
You walked away
You said you would, if you had time
But you always have time for other
girls.
Or maybe its because i dont
remind you much of a girl anymore.
I am an empty bottle
A candle exhausted of any wax
A body with burns and bruises
caused by a civil war raging in my
brain
Of paranoia because i know
I can never be loved.
Or maybe i'm a candle whose wax
is love.
I am dilapidated apartment in a
suburban neighbourhood
An object you threw away when it went past expiry date.
One man's waste is every man's
waste.
I am used tissue paper.
Don't touch me.

Your explanation was quiet
It felt like a cold bath on a winter day.
And i said okay.
And i agreed that it would be okay
if you left this
Deteriorated, haunted dwelling
For a home.
I only wanted what was best for
you.
Don't Worry About Me.
I said.
I'll be okay
I'll do stuff
I’ll open an orphanage
I’ll travel the world
I’ll cook
I’ll read
I’ll write
Maybe i’ll find my Pedro who will be the Juan for me.
But my calm was a veil you could see through
But did nothing about

But you see, my love,
As i sowed the seeds of your own
garden
You told me
I was a used toy.
I didn't bring any excitement, or joy.
And so that evening, after you refused to pick up my call
no matter how many times i called,
You stubbed a cigarette on my
passion.
You poured water over burning
embers by saying you were
‘Not sure’ whether you loved me.
You reminded me of how you ran
your fingers through the weeds in
my garden
And i questioned
Is is because you like other girls
houses?
With nicer gardens?
With an electric heater instead of a
bonfire that lights up like a gehenna.
That night, you told me we should
rethink
You stopped saying i love you and
when you left,
You did not hug me at the door.
I trimmed my garden
And polished the furniture
And sent you pictures of our newly
decorated mansion
But this home, was now empty.
You left it haunted by the idea that
no one could love a displaced storm.
It's still empty.
It's a mansion that has an
overgrown garden again
The weeds are spilling out
And i can't bother to trim them anymore.

You came unexpectedly. Like a welcome guest of old days. You glided into my sixteen-year-old curiosity, which, at the time was a week shy of wounds two months deep. You remembered smells and tastes and ****** puns. You flicked cigarettes with the vibe of breaking hearts. You lifted weights with the vibe of protecting your sister from all that could ever go wrong. You drove like that too. With the engine pushing, accelerating to over 200 kph on empty highways with Halsey booming through my smart-*** comments; so smooth, it felt like jumping off a cliff. Unlike how I felt after you left. I was full to the brim. Buzzing with poetry and sultry words. Little did I know that you had a string of babies like me. Ones that blog their moods in metaphors and mostly they are all dedicated to you.

I remember they say something about summer rain.