Sep 2017
there’s a delhi boy, somewhere out there
i like to to think that he is the physical embodiment of opposite day
because when push him away, he pulls me back
when i tell him i hate him, he says he loves me
and when i say i want to leave and im halfway to leaving through the door,
he grabs my arm,
pulls me back,
and gently says,
“this is YOUR house, you can’t leave YOUR OWN house. you’re being ridiculous. also where do you keep the mayo?”
there’s a delhi boy, somewhere out there
and he’s pretty **** wild
when i say wild, i dont mean he lives like every day is his last
i mean he’s wild enough to believe there will always be a tomorrow
and don’t get me wrong, im not saying that like it’s a bad thing
because when i tell him i won’t survive that night
somehow his tomorrow-ness always helps me make it to the sunrise
you see, he’s the first boy i haven’t scared away
with my tendency to want to die
no, it’s much more than that
in fact
he plants entire fields of flowers for me
instead of picking a few to put on my to-be casket
like everyone else does
he writes to me with the flower stems
and makes me feel like im the backbone of all his sentences
even though im more a sentence fragment, missing conjunctions, is that a misspelling of because? kinda gal
he likes to edit, but he never takes credit for fixing me
you see, writer’s block becomes a hollow garden full of red ikea flowers shrouded in my guts when i think of him
because it’s not that i don’t know what to say
its that i have so much to say all at once
because he is so much of everything good i did not know i deserved
for the distance between us not to hurt
the closest thing I have to an accepted prayer
as someone
that doesn’t really believe in soulmates, I mean
can you even objectively define a soulmate?
even if you could, what is the statistical probability that your soulmate isn’t dead?
i guess he can be unfamiliar territory because
im so used to people tearing off the parts of me they need
and hes the first one to ever say he would not let any part of me go
theres a delhi boy out there
and i hope he knows that he always has a home in my notebooks
because my writing comes from my heart and he has mine
i hope he knows that he fits in between the lines of my poems better than the spaces
of our fingers when im holding his hand and
after heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak
he is my first healing
i like to to think that he is the physical embodiment of opposite day
because when push him away, he pulls me back
when i tell him i hate him, he says he loves me
and when i say i want to leave and im halfway to leaving through the door,
he grabs my arm,
pulls me back,
and gently says,
“this is YOUR house, you can’t leave YOUR OWN house. you’re being ridiculous. also where do you keep the mayo?”
there’s a delhi boy, somewhere out there
and he’s pretty **** wild
when i say wild, i dont mean he lives like every day is his last
i mean he’s wild enough to believe there will always be a tomorrow
and don’t get me wrong, im not saying that like it’s a bad thing
because when i tell him i won’t survive that night
somehow his tomorrow-ness always helps me make it to the sunrise
you see, he’s the first boy i haven’t scared away
with my tendency to want to die
no, it’s much more than that
in fact
he plants entire fields of flowers for me
instead of picking a few to put on my to-be casket
like everyone else does
he writes to me with the flower stems
and makes me feel like im the backbone of all his sentences
even though im more a sentence fragment, missing conjunctions, is that a misspelling of because? kinda gal
he likes to edit, but he never takes credit for fixing me
you see, writer’s block becomes a hollow garden full of red ikea flowers shrouded in my guts when i think of him
because it’s not that i don’t know what to say
its that i have so much to say all at once
because he is so much of everything good i did not know i deserved
for the distance between us not to hurt
the closest thing I have to an accepted prayer
as someone
that doesn’t really believe in soulmates, I mean
can you even objectively define a soulmate?
even if you could, what is the statistical probability that your soulmate isn’t dead?
i guess he can be unfamiliar territory because
im so used to people tearing off the parts of me they need
and hes the first one to ever say he would not let any part of me go
theres a delhi boy out there
and i hope he knows that he always has a home in my notebooks
because my writing comes from my heart and he has mine
i hope he knows that he fits in between the lines of my poems better than the spaces
of our fingers when im holding his hand and
after heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak
he is my first healing
