I know you.
Your loves, likes, nerves, sensitivities.
I've heard every story you have to tell.
I've heard you tell them hundreds of times.

You laugh at the same moments,
Use the same phrases.
I've heard them so often I'd be able to tell them myself.

But,
One day,
I might not know you.

I may be the last to hear your stories,
and won't be able to predict your laugh.
Your phrases may be foreign.
And characters and settings will need describing.

I may not be your lifelong companion.
I might not want to be.
And maybe that's ok.

Maybe I'll be a fresh pair of ears
To listen to your new,
Practice-perfected stories.

no one loves me
but they claim they care
if they really did wouldn't they see

i am falling apart
fragile to the touch
yet they keep on pushing me

closer to the edge
and they think i can take more
so they push farther till i'm at the brink

it's like they know i can't swim
but they are going overboard
and they'll be suprised when i sink

They say people never change
But they do

They rot
               decay
                         deteriorate

On a rare occasion
They repent

People change
Just never in a way we deserve

wild eyes disheveled hair
a hothouse of repressed emotions
your mind whirls with anxieties
of a good girl
gone bad
due to a cauldron
boiling between your legs
you try in vain
to dull the pain
sleeping with men
being used
then cast aside
abandoned
reopening the wound
of daddy issues

I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.

i told you that i loved you

you told me that i could do better