Jun 2017
I keep waking up shaking from the same dream. I am the driver in a 10 car pile up, I am trying to **** all the versions of myself I never found the courage to show you, I am trying to tape my mouth with duct tape so I don't scream too loud "I just wanted to be enough for you"
You never knew what It took to carry a heart in your palms without letting it slip through, you never knew how to convince me that you were okay with the broken pieces of myself I left in a box at your doorstep. The last time we spoke, I told you death has been making its bed in my thoughts. That shouldn't have been the last time we spoke, you should have known that ropes and high places have a way of luring me in, you should have known that death would be the last person I wanted to flirt with. How would you feel if I called you and told you that he's had his hands up my skirt? How would you feel if the one place I feel close to dying is the only place I like to be? How would you feel if I told you I've been asking the ground to get ready to greet me? You wouldn't. You tell me you haven't felt anything since the night we hung up without whispering love through our clenched teeth but I'm the one still pulling the glass out of my cheeks from jumping into love with someone who doesn't know what the word means. I am co-relating love with death. I am doing this because every day that goes by where you don't tell me you love me, is a day where it becomes harder to breathe and I'm wondering what that means.
I am writing this poem from the rooftop of my mother's house, I am hoping its high enough. I am hoping to forget the sound of your name. I am trying not to think of the look on your face when you read this and realize I was on a date with death, he really knows how to make my heart stop.
You never knew what It took to carry a heart in your palms without letting it slip through, you never knew how to convince me that you were okay with the broken pieces of myself I left in a box at your doorstep. The last time we spoke, I told you death has been making its bed in my thoughts. That shouldn't have been the last time we spoke, you should have known that ropes and high places have a way of luring me in, you should have known that death would be the last person I wanted to flirt with. How would you feel if I called you and told you that he's had his hands up my skirt? How would you feel if the one place I feel close to dying is the only place I like to be? How would you feel if I told you I've been asking the ground to get ready to greet me? You wouldn't. You tell me you haven't felt anything since the night we hung up without whispering love through our clenched teeth but I'm the one still pulling the glass out of my cheeks from jumping into love with someone who doesn't know what the word means. I am co-relating love with death. I am doing this because every day that goes by where you don't tell me you love me, is a day where it becomes harder to breathe and I'm wondering what that means.
I am writing this poem from the rooftop of my mother's house, I am hoping its high enough. I am hoping to forget the sound of your name. I am trying not to think of the look on your face when you read this and realize I was on a date with death, he really knows how to make my heart stop.
