the night of my birthday
i had an epiphany
while a boy was trying to ***** me
underneath the table

while i was surrounded by everyone
i didn’t even know
and maybe memories seem fuller
in my sober head but i thought

i’d rather slit my wrists and
lose the scars
than share oxygen with anyone here

occasionally i’d say
my problem isn’t that i don’t have friends
but that i can’t make friends

and maybe i don’t want to know people
and retell their stories like a signature
but let my stories be known
residing in some other soul

i looked at his smile
and i hated myself because
still i don’t know if he makes me happy
or if i’ve fallen in love with the idea of
who he could be if he could just
love me for more than my skin

i’d love to find the perfect metaphor for him
because he is an ever-changing
open-ended question i’ll
never be able to answer

last week
he was a song stuck in my head and
i loved the idea of being obsessed with
all his verses but i was terrified
because i always got sick of songs i loved

yesterday
he was a hazy memory buried underneath
furtive glances and stolen kisses
and it used to be enough knowing that
he’d love to break me over any other girl

but when i’ve felt the clear screen
between me and everybody else
i thought for a second he loved me
despite my broken skin
and it’s not enough

and distancing myself from my mind
has never seemed to work because lately
loneliness has been a recurring theme and
one thing that keeps me company
is the idea that
one day i'll think of you
and feel okay

i don't know if i will be okay
but i hope you won't be the one holding my hand
and writing my story for me
i hope i’ll be okay