I'm starting to think that it's rare to find someone who doesn't have a piece of their heart left in someone else's hands that maybe there is no such thing as a true love just the love that comes last just the love that nobody else has to try to one-up I'm starting to think that maybe my dad is still in love with my mom and his new wife doesn't mind because maybe when you get older you realize that there is no such thing as wholeheartedly loving someone only loving them with the pieces that are left and maybe my girlfriend is still in love with her best friend because I saw the way he looked at her and I tried not to be jealous when they went off on their own at that party and I heard a girl say that she calls their relationship "complicated" and what the hell does that make me am I the complication and I'm trying not to be jealous but I've never made her laugh like he does and I'll probably never know her like he does and maybe all I can hope for is for her to love him from afar and love me up close maybe he is her house back in Mississippi and I am her new apartment maybe if she puts up curtains it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when my last boyfriend said I reminded him of his ex it feels like the piece of my heart he was holding starting bleeding like maybe an artery sprung a leak because I am like her but not quite she is mural and I am replica she is mountain range and I am photograph she is morning walks on the beach and I am jar of sand I knew he was in love with her I could tell by the way he said her name after he ****** me I thought maybe second best was good enough I thought maybe if I do my make up like she does he will call me pretty today the ****** up part is that it worked the sad part is he didn't know why it hurt so bad maybe I am just hypersensitive maybe my girlfriend only loves him as a friend maybe by complicated she meant he loved her but she couldn't love him back but that's what I've been saying about that boy that said he loved me I keep telling myself I don't love him but on lonely nights he is the one I want to talk to he is always there in the back of my mind I wear his jacket when I want to feel safe because my girlfriend will probably never know me like he does maybe I will love him from afar and love her up close maybe he is my house before my dad moved out and she is his new place maybe if I hang up some paintings it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when he said he loved me

Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's  being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news,  printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.

Daisy Buchanan
Once said
That there was nothing better
A girl could be in this world
Than a beautiful
Fool

When I smile
With flowers in my hair
And innocence
Pooled with naivety
In my eyes

I hate myself