***** fingernails
and cheap wine.
Fleetwood Mac and chicken tenders.
Snapping you little flirty faces
saying how much I’d like to make out.
Feels like we’re a couple of teenagers drunk in like.

Just a silly girl who can’t wait to see you
and pretend you don’t know what I look like
in the dark.

What is wrong with me that I still love you?
I still love you more than a singer needs to sing.
More than a painter needs paint,
more than flowers need the rain,
more than Bonnie loved Clyde,
more than the sun needs the moon.

If you called me up and said, “come back”
I would drop everything.
I love you even though you are why I hate myself.

The ghosted messages
still sit there cold and unforgiving.
I wish my brain could let me forget
let me enjoy what I’m doing now,
who cares what you’re doing now.

I bet you’ve found the girl of your dreams.
*******, a perfect *** that she’s worked for in the gym for 10 years.
Long blonde hair and clear skin.
Tall and tan because she grew up in Florida.
I bet she’s rich from daddy’s money,
and barely calls you because she’s “independent.”
I bet you make sure she finishes every time you make love and are gentle and kind in a way you never were with me.
I bet you’re already planning on marrying that girl some day.

I hope she breaks your heart.
I hope she cheats on you with everyone you know.
Your best friend, someone you trust.
I hope you can’t sleep or eat and cry for months.
I hope she ruins your self esteem and makes you swear off ever trying again.
Like you did to me.

I know you apologized and swore you’d never do anything so horrible again, and I wish I could say I’m happy for the girl who will get everything I ever wanted..
but it doesn’t help knowing I’m the only one you ever felt deserved to be treated like garbage.

I hope she ***** your dad.

I don’t talk about it much,
because I can’t figure out how to write
about it.
It still stings like a thousand bees,
takes my breath away like a kick to the gut.
I can feel my brain get lost,
“wait, what’d you say, sorry.”

I am an alien among humans,
like I’m acting in a movie it doesn’t feel like I’m sitting there.
If I’m not busy busy busy I am a fly
at a bar drinking as if it could be my last;
and then I’m sick.

I need a doctor to remove this scar tissue around my heart.
It didn’t heal right, or maybe it’s not done yet.
What do I do in the meantime?

Sometimes I think it’s gone.
That maybe it got up in the mountains
of Virginia,
or left on the bench at a roadside diner.
I feel so weightless without it,
like I can do anything, be anything,
freedom.

But it’s never really gone.
It always hitches a ride or grabs onto
the bottom of my pants dragging in the dirt.

That little ****** named Heartbreak.
He still knows how to weigh me down.

I’m supposed to be going through the drag of orientation.
Sat in front of a computer, watch these videos.
Come get me when you’re done.
But I can’t stop thinking about him.
Time has been my worst enemy,
moving so fast taking me farther and farther away from those days we were together.
Too far away to touch anymore.
But the memories are still there.
Dimmer, foggy and like a lemon.