you used to be my light.
I wear sunglasses now.

Words cannot describe my feelings towards you,
Although, hell, I'll certainly try.

I love you.
although, as I used to say so often, "not that way." Purely platonic (as I routinely reassure everyone).
To say you've been a big part of my life is an enormous understatement-
You've been there as long as I can remember.
It's only recently that I've grown to truly appreciate you,
from laughter and jokes via Google in English class
to whispered secrets in orchestra.
You always told me those secrets with a smile on your face, even though
they were impossibly sad.
Why?
Was it because you wanted to look like you were saying something normal?
Or was it because you didn't think you could say it without crying, so you forced yourself to smile?
You saw through me in my darkest hours,
And managed to forgive me time and again.
I owe you so much.
You're beautiful, talented, funny, and strong.
And he  broke  you.
He took your heart.
He cherished it, made you feel important.
And then he shattered it into more pieces than there are stars
(of which you claim to not be good at writing about).
...twice.
And still he ignores you, which requires both arrogance and selfishness at levels so extreme,
Odysseus would tell him to get a grip, and Caesar would be disturbed.
..
And you deserve so much better. I want to remind you of that. He's nothing, he doesn't deserve you and he never will.

To forget you would be a heinous crime,
One I will never be guilty of.
Whether it is tucked away in the expanses of the universe inside my head,
Or stored as ones and zeroes in the conversation records of many a different software, accumulated over the years...
Or in the papers, which you will be in someday, with that kind of writing talent.
How could I possibly forget those chocolate eyes which tell me so much when you tell me so little?
How could I possibly forget those nights in Italy, when everything went to hell and you just couldn't take it?
How could I possibly forget these memories that you've left me? Some of my favorites?
How could I possibly forget you? You beautiful, talented, special, powerful, selfless, kind, funny girl?
I will miss you more than anyone else.
And I will remember you.
When my new dark hours come, I will remember what you have told me.
I promised you, after all. And I keep my promises.



*Especially yours.

Why would you love a girl
that needs to lie next to strangers to cope?

Lately, I've seen poems trending about how no one should fall in love with a poet, nor should they make a poet helplessly fall in love with them. However, something no one has mentioned yet is what occurs too often: stealing from a poet.

When a poet writes a poem, that poem is the perfect combination of metaphors and imagery created by them for you -- a compilation so beautifully intricate that you can get lost by reading merely a few words, overtaken by an empathetic tide that you did not think would come to the corners of your eyes when you sat down and opened your book or tab or paper.

This is the beauty of poems; they express words that many cannot say in any other variation of any way. Ask a poet to describe their emotions and they will beg you for paper and pen, a computer and a keyboard. And these poems eventually combine to become a part of the poet.

The poems a poet writes become a part of themselves.

That being said, it is not okay to take away from a poet what is rightfully theirs. You do not steal from a poet because you are searching for an idea, or because you would like to go trending. Stealing is not poetry. Stealing is not beautiful.

We are a community of people with a love more affable for poetry than for ourselves, and we should all respect all the pieces, because if we do then we are accepting and respecting each other.

So I ask you from the bottom of my heart, do not steal from a poet any longer if you have, or at all if you have not. Your pieces are your own raw emotions, not mine. My pieces are my own raw emotions, not yours.

I don't know whether I am full of emotion or just **numb

It is not an excuse, but it is a reason.
It is not your fault that I am not strong enough to stop this thing I do.
This thing that hurts the both of us, but it really hurts you.
Part of me thought you already knew.
I convinced myself that you’d picked up on the subtle hints I’d dropped on your feet like soggy feathers.

I don’t need you to forgive me.
I need you to do what will make you okay.
I need you to be better in spite of me.
I need you to graduate and become successful.
I need you to marry someone with blue eyes and blond hair so I hate myself every day.

People make excuses for me and it makes me feel like hemorrhaging.
I don’t want to party.
I don’t want to dance.
I like to marinate in this pain I’ve earned.
To know that I may never know you because I got to know someone else. Might never open my eyes to the sight of your face two inches in front of mine.

Do not fall in love with these words because they are made of ink and ink bleeds, but I don’t.
I sent you all my love in an airplane that crossed over the sea.
And by the time it got there, you were half way to me.
Don’t let my tears coax you into settling.
My hurt is irrelevant when it is what caused yours.

So many things I want to say but have no right to.
Sign a permission slip to grant me access to the places closed off with yellow tape.
How could I ask for a second go at cutting you into confetti?
Come here, I said come here.

You need to be here, so I can stop being this way.
But is not fair to say.
It is not your responsibility to restore my innocence.
When did I become so selfish?
Why did I take directions from strangers that played their music too loud?

I should have done molly.
Should, shoul, shou, sho, shh. Sshhh.
I should have done more drugs and given less hugs.
Sshhh.
I should not have dressed that way or done my make up just so.
I should have been looking through pictures of you on my phone.
Oh, that face. The one that thought I was perfect.
You know the one, with the eyes I wanted to one day see on the face of our child.

I'm naïve. I am an airborne virus. You caught me on the bus.

You were never not perfect.

never did i believe that the biggest compliment
that would ever leave my lips for you
was the image that i created of you and who i thought
you were

and honestly, i think that might be the biggest compliment
anyone's ever given you

i painted you as someone who could cure every broken part of me
but in reality you are ignorant of this broken side, and ignorant of the
true pain of sadness - of complete loneliness

and in your ignorance you found a way to get under
my skin and remind me that i am a human and i have
emotions

you found a way to remind me of the flaws that i
cannot forget no matter how hard i try

and i dont know if i can forgive you for that.