As I count 1,2,3 in history I try to process that Napoleon left France kind of like how you left me. Because in a moment I felt my skin wrap a little tighter around me and it became a little harder to breathe. And as I hear the teacher talking about some ******* concepts of Metternich’s conservatism, I wonder why we need to label our beliefs. Because if you feel something there that is rare enough in a world starved for empathy and emotions drowning in a numb, blank state that we are have been swimming in for the majority of our lives after childhood.

Because we are no longer children. And we grow, we are supposed to blossom but I guess God forget to water me because I am just a mess. And the truth is that you can't always turn your sadness into a poem and sometimes it just sits in your chest and drains the life from you. So stop calling me beautiful because I am tired of being lied to. I am tired of feeling sad and you claiming that its beautiful, I am tired of feeling empty and you trying to make it romantic, I am tired of you lying to my face when you say that you love me and I am tired of re reading my old poetry after our break up, knowing that whenever you said I love you it was a lie that I held onto for dear life- a lie I breathed in and wanted to live inside of because maybe it’s not beautiful to be a mess but you always called me at four in the morning like you were on top of the world despite your insomnia.

-k.d.