Jan 2013
i cried so hard i thought my heart would fall out of my chest in a bleeding beating lump of an ***** onto the ground. my tears watering the ground and my voice screeching
screaming for you to hold me and kiss me again. it feels like the pain has become me. it has transcended being just pain, it has become a tangible thing that i could extract and put into something else, but i can't find a container big enough or the right shape so it pours and pours and pours and pours out onto the floor and into this poem and into my old scars and i can't hold it and i can't hold it in
so it pours and it pours and i cry, i cry for you, and i miss your lovely touch and the kindness that you put into me and taught me how to be me. i hope you never regret anything because i'll never regret it. this poem isn't for me anymore. this poem is for you. i'm weak, remember? if this is hard for you, it's excruciating for me. repeat. i can't hold it in. you feel me. you felt who i was. you know me inside and out. you've touched and seen every corner of my body, you've explored the depths of my soul. even the parts that are harder to look at, you've seen them. you've looked at them and told me that they are beautiful. that word feels alien to me. beautiful doesn't exist anymore. beautiful was meeting your grandmother. beautiful was how i felt when we sat on that couch drinking coffee and tea and talking and watching people and listening to music that made me feel things. i wish i knew how to have everything i want. i wish i knew how to make me love you. if i knew how, this wouldn't be happening. and i could be everything for you, just like you always wanted. but i don't know how. but you should know that you taught me how to be me. you should know that i have never felt more beautiful than when i was crying on your couch the day we really said our goodbyes. and i want you to know that when you held me, i was so sorry for all of the hurt i had poured into you. i never meant to do that. i meant to just pour it out onto the floor, to keep my beating bleeding heart company.
screaming for you to hold me and kiss me again. it feels like the pain has become me. it has transcended being just pain, it has become a tangible thing that i could extract and put into something else, but i can't find a container big enough or the right shape so it pours and pours and pours and pours out onto the floor and into this poem and into my old scars and i can't hold it and i can't hold it in
so it pours and it pours and i cry, i cry for you, and i miss your lovely touch and the kindness that you put into me and taught me how to be me. i hope you never regret anything because i'll never regret it. this poem isn't for me anymore. this poem is for you. i'm weak, remember? if this is hard for you, it's excruciating for me. repeat. i can't hold it in. you feel me. you felt who i was. you know me inside and out. you've touched and seen every corner of my body, you've explored the depths of my soul. even the parts that are harder to look at, you've seen them. you've looked at them and told me that they are beautiful. that word feels alien to me. beautiful doesn't exist anymore. beautiful was meeting your grandmother. beautiful was how i felt when we sat on that couch drinking coffee and tea and talking and watching people and listening to music that made me feel things. i wish i knew how to have everything i want. i wish i knew how to make me love you. if i knew how, this wouldn't be happening. and i could be everything for you, just like you always wanted. but i don't know how. but you should know that you taught me how to be me. you should know that i have never felt more beautiful than when i was crying on your couch the day we really said our goodbyes. and i want you to know that when you held me, i was so sorry for all of the hurt i had poured into you. i never meant to do that. i meant to just pour it out onto the floor, to keep my beating bleeding heart company.
