I'm thinking about your tattoo and how much I want to kiss it.
I never saw it in person and that makes me feel like I don't know you.
I want to feed you orange slices in bed and watch the juice
drip down your lips, but then I don't think I've ever seen you eat fruit.
There's always a version of you in these poems,
but it's wrapped up with him and him and him.

He's only ever heard my voice on the phone and I want to ask,
Don't you want to see these lips in person?
but I can't be **** and I don't know if I want to be.
You told me that you almost passed out after I kissed you once
and I can't think of anything more me than that.
I am always too much even when I'm trying so hard to be small.

I pretend like I'm advertising to the public, but in truth
I never keep my okcupid profile active for more than a month.
I go through phases of wanting to be loved and wanting to be used
and I can't help but blame you, even if that's unfair.
You loved me and used me and loved me and used me
but I just loved and loved and cried and loved some more.

I want to promise that this is the last poem I ever write about you,
but my eighth grade teacher told me to never put anything I don't believe in writing.
What I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you're not in my life anymore,
but that doesn't mean I don't miss you.