because i miss you.

i miss you so much.
i miss your hands
the hands i used to write poetry about

before i started feeling empty again.


and now i feel alive, but it hurts so bad.


and i want to be near you
and smell your scent
and rub my face against your chest

and feel the skin on your back
against the palms of my hands


and your lips against mine


and that's why i don't want you to read this.

because it means that i'm wrong
and scared
and weak.


but if you read this
you would look at me and tell me that i'm beautiful and strong



and i would just keep being angry at myself.




i just want to stop missing you.
please don't read this.



i miss you.

i want to call you

you're less than a minute away.

i want to tell you that i'm sorry that i can't hold it together

i cry whenever i think of you at all.

i want to cut myself

it's a stupid temporary solution

i want you to hold me

tell me that i'm not a ****** up person

i want you to tell me that everyone feels this way sometimes

come on baby, lie to me


don't tell me that "now's not a good time to talk"

don't tell me that i'll get through this

don't look me in the eyes

because i can't handle you
and all of your strength

when i am weak and on my knees

read some bukowksi today.
he's an amazing poet.
He really is.
but he's a ****** up old man.

and i'm so terrified of turning into him.

i'm so scared of turning into a mean old pervert
that never falls in love.
instead,

just ******* people until their soul falls out

because they think that they've fallen for someone talented and deep


but bukowski

his poems used to make me chuckle.


not anymore.
now,
i read his poems of
******* to little girls
and killing the people across the street
and being alone in a room full of people
and wanting to get so ****** up that the walls become the floor


and i can relate

yesterday i took a long drive
and i drove
looking for a place

that i had never been.

because all of my favorite places are now tainted,
tainted.

with memories.

i needed a new place
where i could create new memories
of peacefulness
and content happy feelings.


because the beach down the road from my house reminds me of the day i went skinny dipping
and the coffee shop down the street reminds me of just a few days ago
where i called you on the phone,
and tears made my tea salty.

and i didn't want to go to a store or something
because you can't sit peacefully and relax in a store.

it took a while


but i followed my heart.
i took a left on rice street.
i passed the beach.

drove all the way into St. Paul

I passed the Cathedral.
i thought about going in, but my soul just wasn't feeling it.
So i kept driving.

and all of a sudden, i decided to pull over

and i sat in my car.
and i cried
and i wrote you a sad song (that you will probably never hear)

and then i got out.

embracing the cold.
and i walked into a place

that didn't remind me of anyone.

i sat there
and i drew on my arms.
and i wrote poetry.
and when it was closing time, i helped a girl there move the furniture so she could vacuum.

and i felt alive.
creating a new memory

that hasn't been and will never be

tainted

i watch as steam rises from my cup of coffee.


drifts
disappears

like it wasn't even there to begin with

like wisps of smoke
spiraling toward the ceiling



but this coffee tastes burnt
and i'm drinking it out of the coffee cup you gave me for my birthday



i just want to throw it across the room and
watch it splatter across these ******* ugly yellow walls

i'm terrified of seeing you again.

and it's very different because it only ever brought me joy

because i would see the happiness and joy in your eyes


and i'm terrified that i'll just see hatred
towards me


for hurting you
but i would deserve it.


and you deserve to be happy. i wish i could
erase all the pain that you are feeling

and hold you again


but i can't

because i chose to let you go.

this loneliness is so difficult


and i miss you.



but being strong for yourself is better than being weak for someone else.

some mornings are worse than others.

some days, i wake up
my lips chapped, nose running
my eyes bloodshot and red,
i stare at the blue paint on the walls
and the blue sheets on my bed

and it's impossible
to pick my tired head off the pillow

it's weighed down from dreams about you
and nightmares
where you're so angry that you grab me by my hair and throw me out of the moving car

my head is too heavy
to get out of bed


pull the covers over me
and cry
cry


cry


         cry until it goes away


sleeping next to you used to bring me comfort; now the blankets can't even keep me warm.