I sit on the floor
of my newly carpeted room
searching for answers
in the white crackled ceiling
and find nothing
but imaginary shapes of hope
in the bumps that preside in it.
There is no meaning to this,
broken hearts laying down
final words as they rest easy,
hardly trying to find love again
in the things they lost,
criticizing every act of affection
and disowning the thought of recovery.
I imagine the sky
changing past the roof above where my eyes meet
the ceiling
while I sit here decaying with the thought
that no one will ever love me
like I want them to
and no one will ever want me
if I don’t even want myself,
how do I get through a life
where there is no affection to be found?
I sink into the carpet,
eyes red against plush blue
wondering if I’ll ever accept
that some people aren’t meant to be loved
and maybe I am one of them.

I look at you
eyes red with regret
and longing for the someone
that didn’t love you like you wanted.
You shift under the world you are holding
with your shaking hands
as you begin to fold under the pressure
you weren’t meant to endure.
I see you lock the doors to your heart
pushing everyone away
like you are TNT
that is waiting to explode.
Satisfaction loses meaning
when all you wanted
was never allowed
and you still taste
what could have been
but wasn’t.
These days you find nothing
in a world that is trying to save you,
you chop away open arms
like branches from your favorite trees
and you lose yourself in loneliness
and self prescribed misery.
You stopped seeing beauty
and I am trying to understand how
I could make you love yourself again
even though he couldn’t.
When I look at you
the glass in my bones shifts
and open new wounds
because you hurting is synonymous
with me drowning
in all the ways I wish I could save you.
So I just sit here
hoping you make it
through ground shattering pain
like I did,
but I cannot tell the future
and all I can do is wait.

Where were you
when my heart was threatening
to beat itself out of my chest,
my soul was on fire
with the sparks of a generation
of hurt and pain
and you where sleeping
on a half broken couch
no care about the world
that was falling apart at my fingertips.
I was alone in the moment,
fireworks exploding under my feet
keeping me in a prison
of my own making
understanding that I would never try to run
from something so pretty.
I was lost,
and you never found me
buried underneath blankets
that strangled me in the night
layered on top of my aching body
so maybe I would feel the pressure
of someone else again.
You were never there
when I was dying for something,
last breaths clinging to my teeth
exhaling with every word
you never had the time to hear,
I left with nothing on my back
except regrets clinging to the
knives you put there.

Maybe I was too much thinking
and not enough time
always trying to stay in the lines.
I was too much space,
but not enough stars
barely enough room
to keep my heart.
I was too many hangnails,
falling over guard rails
nothing there to stop my fall.
I was too many truths,
not enough dares,
who even cares
about a girl so scared.
Too many some days
not enough nows
hitting the branches
on my way down.
I've seen too many fallen
to be happy with my life,
I've seen not enough days
and too many nights.

You told me you loved me
with honey dripping from your lips
and blood fell from my fingertips
as I ran back to you
guilt in my face
when they asked me why I stayed
I thought your flickering eyes
meant change
but all I got were bruises
behind my pumping veins
and a type of love
that was never meant to be real.
I only found broken lightbulbs
behind my dimming pupils
and aching bones
holding myself up.
Every day was a mistake,
bending backwards just to say
draining prayers for something more
and hoping God
would walk through the door
and save me.
It was all a lie,
feebly accepting that maybe
I was going to die unhappy
and alone
with someone who said they loved me
but only knew love as
****** knuckles
and never ending pain.

Here I am,
sitting in my new old room
drinking coffee to keep me awake
writing new old words
from ideas that are recycling in my brain.
There is nothing but
hand-me-down sounds
reclaimed by my slowly failing ears
that lend nothing but
thoughts that will eventually lead to
my new, but never unthought of demise.
My new-to-me street
sings lullabies of past goodbyes
that may someday be echoed
by my own lips.
I breathe air from trees
that are much older than me
and have seen the passing of time
through the years.
Other people
with their new and old ways
break in new and old habits
that will stay with this place forever.
While I sit on this bed,
my head spins with the thought
that someone may soon
be sitting in this new old room
and think the same thoughts
as I am right now.

I told God about you
and I cried
tears that refused to fall
finding heartbroken symphonies
in between my bruised knuckles,
I sang your name to him
with quiet melodies
that never made sense.
I told him about the times
you saw me,
more than just a poet
with a bag of regrets
slung over her shoulder
like a tool kit.
You saw me as me
big eyes and healing scars
and everything you shouldn’t love
but you did anyway.