You pushed me up against a wall when we kissed.
I can't get out.
You pulled the blanket over our heads.
I'm struggling for breath.
You traced your hands over my skin.
You left fingerprints on my ribs.
You turned the lights off.
*You've seen parts of me that daylight keeps hidden.

I'm not saying I've fallen for you
I'm still not sure
but you said you loved me
and I think maybe I could love you too
if you were a better you
and I know I shouldn't ask you to change
but you've been gone for a while
and no one knows where you went
and I'm hoping that when you get back
you'll be better
and maybe then we'd have a chance
and I know this is wrong of me to think
but I keep thinking it
because you said you love me
and it's been four years
and you still do
so I think I have time
to decide how I feel
and you'll still be here
waiting for me
or maybe you won't
I don't know what you think of me at this point
I don't know if you'll keep waiting
but I hope you will.
I hope you still love me.
I know that's selfish,
but I hope you do.
I think I might love you,
if you give me a chance to.

The smoke in the bathroom
from burning the rose you gave me
smelled like cigarettes.

I know there's a poem there
but I can't find it.

I heard that people's hearts
are the same size as their fists.

When you told me you loved me
everything was soft around the edges.
The palms of your hands were smooth
as you ran them over every inch of me,
reading me like Braille.
It was gentle.
It was kind.

I heard that people's hearts
are the same size as their fists.

When you told me I broke your heart
everything was shattered and fragmented.
Your knuckles were jagged and ******
as you turned my flesh to pulp,
beating every last I'm sorry out of me.
It was brutal.
It was angry.

I heard that people's hearts
are the same size as their fists.

I held a match to the rose you gave me
but it wouldn't
*******
burn.

I tried so hard to leave you
but you wouldn't
let me
*go.

When I said you weren't paying attention to my feelings
you got mad at me and said
it hurts that you think I'm that awful.

I apologized.

Now here I am
crying in an empty bathtub at 3am
clutching my phone waiting for you to call back
because you hung up when I told you
that it hurts my feelings when you say
stop feeling so sorry for yourself
I have it worse.


Am I a bad person for calling you out on your ****?
Is it rude to stand up for myself?


I'm not sorry if I made you feel bad,
you made me feel worthless.
So you tell me,
which is worse?

Feeling like a bad person
**or not feeling like a person at all?

You asked me why I don't eat meat
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
They'll get killed anyways
and I didn't have a good argument
other than
I just don't want to be the reason.

You asked me why I felt so guilty about the cuts on your arm
and I told you that I can't stand the idea
of being the reason
a living creature gets hurt.
You told me
I would have done it eventually anyways
and I didn't know what to say
other than
*I just never wanted to be the reason.