You say Hey
to see if I’ll say Hey back.
You take great meaning
out of it, I do it out of
common courtesy.

You ask me how I am,
not because you care,
because you want me
to care about you.

Laying your burdens
on me, because I clearly
look strong enough
to hold them.

You’ve filled every
line on my hand, and
now I really wouldn’t
have room to hold
anything because your
hand is always there.

You kiss me
just to see if I’ll
kiss you back.

You test boundaries,
you lay more than just
your words onto me,
that I try to make
into a crossword puzzle.

You plant your hand
on my thigh, my stomach,
trying to link the
the points of my body.
But I’m not made out of paper.
I am not written in Braille,
you don’t have to touch me
to know my story.



You were trying to
cover my skin with
memories of you,
and that’s why
I cover them up.

When will you learn
the point of loving
isn’t to be loved back?

I’m done trying to teach you,
you’re not my problem
to solve anymore.