I haven’t written you
poems in days,
and I feel as if
my bones are going
to break, with
all the soul I carry
within my chest
I miss you.
harder than you
would’ve thought
even when I shouldn’t
even when I haven’t gone
even when I have kept
you within the confines
of this prison cell,
held back by
a bony cage of ribs
I miss you.
and I do not know what to do
with my hands, because
you are the only thing
they want
is you, is you, is you
– it has always been
my life has always been defined
by your person, and it
has been built around you
missing you comes like
the cold gust of a November wind
…like the way coffee smells at three
in the morning, warm and comforting
but never, never enough
and missing you is like the way
my voice breaks when I tell you
i love all of you to
unhearing, useless ears
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
I haven’t written you
poems in days,
and I feel as if
my bones are going
to break, with
all the soul I carry
within my chest
I miss you.
harder than you
would’ve thought
even when I shouldn’t
even when I haven’t gone
even when I have kept
you within the confines
of this prison cell,
held back by
a bony cage of ribs
I miss you.
and I do not know what to do
with my hands, because
you are the only thing
they want
is you, is you, is you
– it has always been
my life has always been defined
by your person, and it
has been built around you
missing you comes like
the cold gust of a November wind
…like the way coffee smells at three
in the morning, warm and comforting
but never, never enough
and missing you is like the way
my voice breaks when I tell you
i love all of you to
unhearing, useless ears
