I like to call this counting crows.

A boy told me he liked me while I was high and crying listening to some indie *******.
My ex girlfriend smoked everyday, 3:11 pm, after school in her backyard, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.

Tell me you like me.

I like to call this counting crows.

And I wish I was pretty without make up, but I sold my soul and became demoralized. 

My ex boyfriend split his wrist one day and blamed me, and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.

Tell me you’re okay.

I like to call this counting crows.

And you really can’t call me pretty because once, I loved someone and they called me pretty, but now he says I’m not the same-
He said I’m glass, but I always thought I was marrow.

I like to call this counting crows.

And I keep throwing up water and candy and syllables, but you won’t like me once you reach the smell,

And I’ve been empty for a long time,
but eating and eating and eating will only make you nauseated.

There is a pit in my stomach filled with sand.

I like to call this counting crows.

And I didn’t expect to meet you here, but there you are smiling at me with top and bottom marbles that I’d love to play with someday.

And here I am rubbing my knees trying to stand up without looking as feeble as I feel-

I remember little things.

Princess Diana died on my birthday.

It takes one man to change a light bulb and a woman to light it.

What the **** was the punchline?

I really want to sleep.

My best friend keeps making plans.

I want to kiss you shoulders.

Please lock the door”

here is a love letter for you,
the one I so desperately crave to love:

please wake up. 
please realize that we have not showered in five days, and this is not romantic, 
it is actually disgusting.

I love you, dear, but the thought of sharing this life with you is a bit unsettling.

I love you, dear, but I hope I die before you because I’m not good with funerals and your sister still hates me.

I love you, dear, but you can’t call me beautiful and then spit metaphors into the sink, you know that makes me uncomfortable.

and did you know the word “get” makes the English language so hard to learn? I learned that in my junior year.

that was the year I cried my eyes out every night over a boy who left me on July first,


and I still cry over him.

I love you, dear, but I can never be in love with you.

and there is a lion gaping at my thigh,
I cannot have your children.


but I love you, dear,
I love you I love you I love you.

when I was seventeen, I kissed one girl and four boys, five people who tasted like a different kind of poison.

when I was seventeen I drank actual poison.

when I was seventeen, my friends never asked how I was doing.

but I love you, dear, how are you doing?

you know, this is a rectangular metaphor.

my senior literature teacher always looked so happy.
he loved poetry.

I love you, dear, but I am not happy.

I love you, dear, but we haven’t showered in five days.

I love you, dear, but you cannot fix this.

I love you dear, but

I love you dear.