Everyone has some one
to come home to.
The house is warm
and full of the sounds
of life when they
walk through the door.
Some one to kiss
and ask how was your day.
Some one to listen
whether it was good or bad.
Some one to discuss
dinner plans and then eat with,
snuggle up on the couch
and watch tv.
Maybe they have a cute baby
that gives purpose to
working 40+ hours a week,
a family to support,
and be supported by.

Tonight I drove home
in freezing rain,
and unlocked the door
to a quiet, cold house.
I forgot to grab salt for
the water softener again
because I don’t have
anyone to remind me.
Even the cat who lives here
doesn’t care about my
existence.
I sat in silence
on my bed for almost
an hour,
paralyzed in thought,
not knowing what to do
because nothing sounds good.
I turned on the ps5
and played Skyrim
for a total of 5 minutes
before turning it back off.
And I gave up on
listening to a podcast
soon after.
I thought about calling
a friend but there’s no one
to call.
I’m dying here I think.
Painfully slow,
but dying all the same.

I wonder if loneliness
could actually **** a person.

Get high before work,
hit penjamin and
cough,
smoke filling my car.
This isn’t a good idea
because **** makes me
forgetful
but **** it.
I realize that the louder
I set the music
the better I feel
so I’m treating this
cruise like it’s 8 hours later.

I’ve been feeling uncool,
unhappy and unlike
myself for the last few
months.
I think all I want for
Christmas this year,
is me.

I can’t escape it.
It follows me around
every corner,
down every alley.
I just want to turn
to him,
but he isn’t there.
Turns out loneliness
is the only thing
that will never leave me.

I want him to say
something.
I want to say
something.
But I don’t and neither does he.
Even though it
eats at me I decide
it’s probably best
to just be quiet today.
To not send another message.
I get angry at him
when I put some of
my emotions on a platter
and he doesn’t reciprocate.
It makes me embarrassed
and ashamed to
let any feelings out.
I don’t know when I
started to be like that,
and I know it’s
not healthy
but I don’t know
how to fix it.
I worry all the time that
he’s going to grow tired
of my inability to
speak when it’s
most needed.

I know I’m not easy
to deal with,
I know it might be
difficult to know
what to say,
or do.
But he knows.
He said,
I’m your boyfriend,
you can always talk to me.
Then he complimented
me from the
other night,
unable to stop thinking
about it, just like
how I’ve been getting
lost in day dreams lately.

I had a dream that
he finally said
I love you,
and even outside of
reality I hesitated before
I said it back.

I am that girl you see
sitting alone at the bar
on a Friday night.
I have no husband,
or man who cares for me.
No kids.
I just exist as the background
character or
side kick in everyone’s story.
I’m the girl
that gets called to come out
and party,
but never called to
come home.
I don’t have anyone to
turn to when my day
didn’t go very well,
or even if it was great.
I feel everything alone.

That’s why I’ve been
planning my escape.
Waiting impatiently
for a phone call
that says,
we want you!
Buy a plane ticket
there’s a bed and a
job waiting for you.

I would jump.

It’s dark when I wake up,
the sun is just starting
to peak over the trees.
It’s time to get back
on the stairs,
and make food at home.
Cozy up to the man
that keeps me warm
and catch up on
all the tv and movies
I’ve missed.
I will close off half
of my house
and relearn the fastest way
to build a fire.
A new season is
just beginning,
and I can only hope
the holidays actually
bring happiness this year.

I think he was
going to say it.
Or wants to
but won’t for some reason.
He’s been saying
everything except
those 3 words.
But I’m in no rush,
I want him to
really mean it,
and me too.

I spend a lot of
time thinking about
other people.
Like right now,
I’m thinking about
him.
I guess I don’t think
I’m that interesting.
But,
I’m plenty interesting.
More than most.
I should spend
more time getting to
know me,
I think I’d like her.

I set a picture
of my boyfriend
as the background
of my watch,
and as much as I love
looking at him
it’s making me mad
because I miss him.
I don’t like missing
someone,
it makes me crazy.

He called me sweet girl
but I wondered if he
meant it.
I haven’t been very nice
to him lately,
or I haven’t felt
nice towards him.
I hope he didn’t notice.

We had a disagreement
which led me to want to do
what I know how to do,
bail.

But when I turned and
walked away from him,
he followed.

When I got to the door
I saw he was there,
and he didn’t say
anything,
he just hugged me
and kissed my forehead
and said,
“I’ll be back.”

And he did come back.

It started with a party bathroom.
You push a button and
music and disco lights
explode from the ceiling.
Drinks come in glass boots,
and bubbles spray
out of wooden boats.
Then it’s drinking in a
renovated church
run by lesbians.
A flight of delicious
craft beers.
The bathrooms have
free tampons and pads.
Now you’re stretched out
across the backseat
of his new truck
singing along to
classic country hits
on the way to the last stop.
This place only carries
6% or higher so
now you’re drunk.
You smoke a cigarette
and talk about your old job.
You blast more country
and take the long way home.
It’s a perfect Saturday night.

My ex FaceTimed me
from Alaska the other day.
Cheerful and
slightly drunk.
Telling me all about
his new adventure.
He saw me smiling
at him and he said,
“Such a pretty girl,
look at you.”
I bashfully rejected
the idea and he said
“Give yourself some credit.”

I agreed only to stop
him from continuing
but I wondered why
is it,
when after the relationship
is dead and gone,
do the men I once craved
attention like that from
finally dish it out so freely.

I like when we’re
cuddled up like puppies,
arms and legs draped
over the other.
I like when he reaches
for my hand and
guides me around
so I’m not on the outside
of the sidewalk
but continues holding it
while he smokes
with the other.
I watched him quietly fill up
two pages with different
drawings and I wondered
what inspired each one.
His Art is usually dark
and distorted,
or goofy like
The bean man.
A wild bean with arms and legs
that wears a bandana,
smokes cigarettes
and causes chaos.
I like petting his hair,
something he had to get used to
because “no other girl had
ever done that before.”
But he’s so cute,
and scruffy like a dog
that I can’t help myself.
I’m still learning how he
operates,
which is mostly in silence
but I’m starting
to understand that
the quiet can be comfortable too.

Once a man loses
interest in you,
you could stand
in front him naked
and he won’t even notice.

Sometimes
I put on a few
drops of the perfume he
bought me for
Valentine’s Day.
The one where he took me
to an Italian place
because he knows spaghetti
is my comfort food.
We were genuinely happy
that day.

Even though maybe
just two weeks before
he slapped me during
an argument,
and two weeks later he would
break up with me.

And I would try to break
the bottle of perfume
on the bathroom floor
and swear I’d never
smell it again.
But sometimes,
I still put it on.

I’m trying to remind
myself that he only
sparkles because I shine.
I look at him through
rose colored glasses,
and think all of his flaws
are cute.
But I am the firefly
that makes him glow,
and the sun that
peaks through after
a storm.
I was all of these things
before him,
now
and
always.

I have a nice man.

He tells me he misses me
every day,
and apologizes when he
gets too busy at work
to respond.
He randomly tells me
I’m pretty and
kisses me on the forehead.
He almost knocks me off
the bed at night
because he wants to be
close to me
and he comforts me when
I’m sad or scared.
He lets me know how
he feels
and what he’s doing
and checks to make sure
I know he really likes me.
Being with him is like
being wrapped in a warm
blanket in a cozy bed.
He is a safe, soft place to land
and he’s all mine.

I know I can’t
control anything
except myself.
And I can barely even do that.
But
I don’t want to have to
negotiate terms and services
in order to get him
to want to hang out with me.
He and I used to relate
on the crippling loneliness
we feel.
And I thought we were going
to help get rid of that,
for each other.
But it went from twice a week
to once a week.
From him asking to see me
to me begging
to see him.

I don’t know what to do
anymore.
I will always be alone.

I don’t know if I
believe that being in love
is for everyone.

I see people everywhere
dying to be with their
partner all the time,
calling and texting,
love songs speckled
throughout my
shuffled playlist,
and heart broken people
thinking they’ll never be okay
without that person.

But I don’t feel it.
Love, for any man anymore.
I feel my ego wanting
to be wanted,
and loneliness trying to
fill the void.

But I don’t trust that
head over heels type love
anymore.
It’s not real.
Nothing lasts forever,
and you learn that
whatever sadness you have
inside of you
is yours and yours alone
to take care of.

You really do die alone.

I grew up on the front porch,
listening to the
song of the whippoorwill.
We came running when
we heard the dinner bell,
back from roaming
the woods and the creek.
Listening to classic rock
in the backseat,
no AC on a hot summer day
and a cooler packed
with lunch.

Vacations were trips
to Kentucky and the
hollers of Virginia
and that time we went to
the grand ol opry.
My hometown has one stoplight
and you’ll hear gossip
about someone you know
at the gas pump.

Now I’m dating a man
who lives on Main Street
and I’m the last one in
the house I grew up in.
My siblings live in the next
town over, and my parents
are down the road.
But not much has really changed,
I’m still growing up
on the front porch.

I like when he puts
his arm around me
as I’m laying against
him on the couch,
and he gives me
a little squeeze and says,
my girl.
I like the way it sounds.

They say,
she’s a good girl.
Girls like that don’t just
grow on trees
but once they’ve
taken enough bites
they leave.

I wish I was the shiniest
Apple on the highest branch,
soaking up all of the sunshine,
bright red and juicy
enough for one man
to finally pick
and take home
instead of leaving me
to rot on the ground
in the shade.
At least the worms like me.

He takes the time
to tell me I look good,
and can’t keep his hands
off me when we’re
on the couch.
He thanks me for
spending time with him
and calls me
pretty lady.
When I’m upset
he asks what he can do
to help
and says we will
figure it out together.
And then today he called
me babe for the first time.
He tells me he misses me
even after we just saw each other
and remembers
everything I say.

Is this what gentle
love feels like?
Or is that just what
Love feels like.
To be seen, heard and wanted.

We haven’t said
I love you yet but
I can feel it.

I wonder if his
clothes will ever
be mixed in with mine.
In a basket fresh from
the dryer,
slowly gone through
and folded.
I can imagine
putting them away in
the dresser in his room,
and then hanging mine
in the closet.

I would take one of
his shirts out of the drawer
and put it on.
Go downstairs to
see him smile and
then kiss me while
he makes dinner.
In the house we live
in together.

The sound of crickets
reminds me of him.
I wonder if I’ll ever be
able to step foot outside
just before dark,
when the sun is still
barely lighting
the sky,
without getting that
feeling.

It sounds like when
things were good.
We always did well
together when it was warm.
Maybe we would have
made it if it
could be
summer forever.

I gave him a necklace
that looks just like
the one I always wear.
I wanted to give him
something that would
remind him of me.

When I gave it to him
he put it on right away,
as I bashfully tried to
make a joke.
He said,
“Come here”
and kissed me.

He hasn’t taken it off since.