I’m so exhausted and burned right to the fingertip,
blistering, painfully, every time we dare to touch.
You’ve worn me down, dragged me through
your loops of excuses and confessions and please,
try to understand, I never meant to hurt—
Yeah. I know. I said it’s alright.
But it was never alright to show up drunk
on a dinner date while I spent hours
on my make-up and you forgot to brush your teeth.
I’m so tired, baby. Have you ever had to look at yourself
in the public bathroom mirror, choking
on every tear and all the things you know
you should say, but don’t because you just want to be loved
at the end of everyday? Have you ever spit your emotions,
literally, into the sink, watching them swirl down the drain?
And have you ever had to tell yourself that you deserve this?
That this park bench is a coffin and you’ve killed yourself again.
That maybe, this actually is alright, because there’s things like
second chances, karma, wishing stars, and a bright side.
I’ve been here, not exactly, but in different ways that still felt
like I couldn’t breath right if you were here but I would die
if you were to leave. So I pulled my sweater sleeves over my hands,
sniffled while you weren’t listening, and laughed when you tickled
my ribs. Because this isn’t so bad. It could be worse. It’s alright.
I think I’ll have an iced tea.