things aren't going so well these days and writing no longer comes easy but i picked up a pen and paper last night and i wrote about you

my name comes in pills,
colorful pops of acid you can slip over your tongue and wash down with saliva
and often times I wish someone would crave my affection
the way they crave the rush they get by popping mollys.
and often times I wish I was half as exciting

perhaps it’s the fear of being loved
or the fear of being left
that has been gnawing on my heart lately,
a cruel reminder of what it means
to be truly alone.
you’re here
and then you’re not.
i am afraid of being the thing of lesser importance.
i am afraid of the past repeating itself
but that in itself may be
a red flag.
for it is only I and I alone
that can prevent that from happening.
by choosing not to crumble at the slightest scent
of abandonment.
by savouring the sweetness of sleeping beside you,
until morning comes to kiss us with lips
scarred with inevitable parting.
perhaps it’s the fear of being loved
or the fear of being left
that has been gnawing on my limbs lately,
making it impossible to take a small step
on the days where the sun decides to resist the day.
i have no reasons to give you,
only a word coupled with a wide-eyed stare.
i feel too much and yet i feel nothing
at all.
sleep walking on a cloudless sky, trying to pin down
a distant bird, the root
of its incessant call.

I like how every awkward thing doesn't feel awkward
and I like how you tease me about things that you're only half kidding about.
I like watching you lick your lips and I like wearing your t-shirt
and I like bumping into you as we walk down back roads at 1 am.

i constantly embarrass myself
and even though i don't want to be a fool,
I'm glad you're the one i'm embarrassing myself with

Sometimes, even though you reassure me, sometimes I wake up and I wonder if you still like the way I smile

my mother is yelling to herself in her bedroom
as my father complains about a mess but creates a bigger one
creates a mess by breaking things
(sometimes breaking spirits)

I think I'd write a poem about today
About the back seat of my car
Or the color of your eyes
Or even the fingerprints on the door windows that are only seen if you look close enough...
But I've been having trouble with words, lately
Especially when I'm sneaking glances at your lips