here is a love letter for you,
the one I so desperately crave to love:

please wake up. 
please realize that we have not showered in five days, and this is not romantic, 
it is actually disgusting.

I love you, dear, but the thought of sharing this life with you is a bit unsettling.

I love you, dear, but I hope I die before you because I’m not good with funerals and your sister still hates me.

I love you, dear, but you can’t call me beautiful and then spit metaphors into the sink, you know that makes me uncomfortable.

and did you know the word “get” makes the English language so hard to learn? I learned that in my junior year.

that was the year I cried my eyes out every night over a boy who left me on July first,


and I still cry over him.

I love you, dear, but I can never be in love with you.

and there is a lion gaping at my thigh,
I cannot have your children.


but I love you, dear,
I love you I love you I love you.

when I was seventeen, I kissed one girl and four boys, five people who tasted like a different kind of poison.

when I was seventeen I drank actual poison.

when I was seventeen, my friends never asked how I was doing.

but I love you, dear, how are you doing?

you know, this is a rectangular metaphor.

my senior literature teacher always looked so happy.
he loved poetry.

I love you, dear, but I am not happy.

I love you, dear, but we haven’t showered in five days.

I love you, dear, but you cannot fix this.

I love you dear, but

I love you dear.