months after you left
slamming the door shut
behind you
i am still
breaking my nails
trying to pry myself
back open

i'm not
i'm not
i'm not

good enough

i don't think
it will ever get easier
to sit next to you

i don't think
the pit in my stomach
will ever leave

i don't think
i really know
how to deal with this

i don't think
i have a solution
for this

i don't think
you will ever understand
the depth of the hurt you left me with

i do not have all of the answers
i do not even have all of the questions

i didn't want to write
anymore love poems
i thought
no one else
deserves my pen
my thoughts
my heart
but i forgot
that it is me
it is my turn
that my love
does not have to be
directed at others
all of the time

i don't think
i know how to be both
me
&
happy
at the same time anymore

my perfectionist hands
will never be able to craft my world
into the utopia i pretended to have
when i also pretended i had you