i can’t write about what it feels like
to run my fingers through your hair
or feel your hands on my skin
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t speak to the softness of your lips
or what it sounds like
when you whisper my name
(no matter how much i want to)
i don’t know what the skin on your hips
feels like after you’ve showered
or what it’s like to wake up
to your breath on my shoulder
(no matter how much i want to)
i can’t write about the feeling
of our skin
soft and rough
holding hands
(oh god, i want to)
i can’t write about you
in anything other than the abstract
no
matter
how
much
i
want
to

standing there
watching you talk
the words dripping from your mouth
like water from a broken faucet
i wait in earnest for you to say my name
hope fills my heart
every time you look me in the eyes
but you always look away
and you never say my name
and it isn't until later
when i'm all alone in my room
sitting on my bed
silence wrapping me up like a blanket
that i look to my mirror
and look my reflection in the eyes
and i remember
that i can say my own name
and i've always said it better
anyway

brown eyes
into brown eyes
into constellations i can’t map
he says he hears music in my soul
and i tell him i’m in love

we sit in the backseat
of his parked car
on the edge
of something close to a revelation
the night sky is hidden
something like a secret
and we are cloaked in darkness
but next to him i swear i can feel the stars
i tell him this feels like my favorite song
something i heard once and will never forget
he kisses me and my heart beats so fast
it slows down time
this is everything
and we both know it
he asks: why didn’t you tell me?
i open my eyes
and then
i’m awake
cold sweat
alone in my bed
he’s gone before i get to tell him:
i always thought you knew

i hope you never have to know
the depth of my devotion
because to know
would be to understand
the emptiness you left in me
when you had nothing
to give back
and surely such
guilt
would eat you alive

i check my horoscope every hour
just in case
the planets decide to change their minds
about us

if i wrote
your name
amillionandone times
would that make you
think of me?

sometimes it feels like i’m the
last
second
of a sunset that didn’t make the movie
a small
forgettable
part
of a spectacular whole
a
split-second
no one will miss...
right?
i could be all the colours you need
every shade of blue
you could think of
and never
enough
still so bright
too late

i want to be enough
i want to be more than enough
i want
to be every star in the sky
and i want
to be the sky
i want to feel like more
more than just one person
more
than i am
more than i’m trying to be
i don’t want to get lost
in the silence of my own mind
i don’t want to be small
and soft
and maybe-broken
i want to be enough

keep me in a space
small enough to keep close
and reach into
whenever you need something
and small enough
to forget about
out of sight
gone for now
wait and wait
and wait
for that moment where you remember
i was always there
in that too-small, small enough space
never out of reach
easily accessible
easily forgotten
use me like it doesn't matter
treat me like i'm small
wait and wait and
waiting still

i imagine you lying
alone
in that too-small bed
with your blankets
(that i hate)
strewn across the floor
warmed by the thought
that you are loved
while i lie
alone
in my too-big bed
covered in blankets
(that you’ve never seen)
freezing
because i am not

i’ve been keeping it in
so many thoughts
and feelings
and dreams i can’t control
i haven’t told you
or anyone
i don’t even tell myself
i just try to forget
and forget and forget
and i’m trying
and it’s working
at least
i think it’s working
it’s past midnight and
i’m beginning to doubt it’s working
okay
it’s definitely not working
because
i’ve been keeping it in
all these thoughts
and these feelings
and dreams i keep trying to control
but i can’t forget
and i can’t tell anyone
and i’m beginning to feel
like i might just
burst

i've written this poem a thousand times
and it's never the same
but it's always about you

there is something sacred
about the way i touch my face
or my arms
or my stomach
or my thighs
or any part of myself
that has at some point
felt foreign
and i want to live in the fearlessness
of learning to accept the gentleness
of my touch
because there is beauty
and holiness
in knowing that i’m enough

it’s 9:28pm
and i’m thinking about how i almost
told you how i feel today
it’s 9:29pm and i’ve been crying
not a lot
but enough to know that
i can’t keep doing this
it’s 9:30pm
and you’ve been ignoring me for hours
and i know i shouldn’t care
but i do
it’s 9:31pm and i’m alone
not without you
but without myself
it’s 9:32pm
and i’m no longer crying
but that doesn’t mean
i don’t still feel
it’s 9:33pm and i still care
even though i’m trying
so hard not to
it’s 9:34pm
and i’m beginning to understand
that i’m not trying
hard enough

she dreams of days she’ll never get back,
heartbreak that never happened to her,
feelings she’s never had,
and that she’s scared she never will.
there is a darkness to her thoughts
when she can understand them.
sometimes she thinks she’s less than she is
(but only on days she can tell her self-worth)
her mind has been sealed off to the public
for so long
she’s beginning to forget her own thoughts.
she remembers better days.
she remembers the days before.
she remembers a time that is not Now.
and to her
those days are inherently better.
she’s self-absorbed.
(a secret: we all are)
to her
this is a flaw.
when looking in the mirror,
to her,
almost everything is.
she is too ******* herself,
she thinks.
she wants to be better
to herself
to others—
just Better.
she thinks.
she tries hard.
she doesn’t try at all.
sometimes all she can manage is trying to try.
she fails.
sometimes it’s okay.
sometimes she’s okay.
(are you really sad if you laughed yesterday?)
she thinks. she thinks she thinks. she thinks.
she smiles a lot.
she cries a lot.
she imagines they cancel each other out.
she only completely understood what a metaphor was
when she was 14
even though she had been using them since she could remember.
she thinks that’s a metaphor for her life.
she doesn’t quite know what that means
but she thinks one day she will.
she thinks.