Constantly brushing my teeth in a desperate attempt to get the taste of you out of my mouth.

Unrequited Love is like the clouds blocking the sun from kissing me throught the window, but inside my chest.

Everybody who has ever kissed me regrets it and they wonder why I try to convince myself being alone is a choice and not all I have left.

Your fingertips traced my spine and I
s  h  a  t  t  e  r  e  d  .

Never understood why people always compared Love to Whiskey until you held me in your arms and I felt the burn in my throat when you let go.

I wonder how raw your hands are from scrubbing away the memories of what my skin felt like that night.

Had a dream you were sitting inside my chest, ripping construction paper in two and that's what it feels like when we talk.   It's tearing me apart.  

I stopped letting you take pictures of me out of fear that your eyes would adjust and see me the way I see myself.

It never occured to you that our hands and how they never fit together perfectly was a flashing neon sign saying TURN BACK NOW.

I've only ever held hands with one boy and sometimes I still feel the shadow of his fingertips and that's why both my wrists are broken.

All the picture frames are facing down because I can't shake the shadows that cling to our faces.

I am something to be ashamed of, your ***** little secret that you can only let yourself want when everything is still and quiet.

I JUST KEEP PUNCHING THE WALLS AND BREAKING DOWN BECAUSE THEY WON'T EVER BREAK THE WAY YOU BROKE ME. I CAN'T REPLICATE THE DAMAGE YOU'VE DONE.

The cold wind beckoned, 
And caused the leaves to come alive,
Dancing around the bushes.
Rustling softy,
They fell
Golden
        Brown
                  Red
From their branches
To join the piles below.
The trees were shedding at
An alarmingly fast rate,
Shivering their layers off
With every gust of icy air.
Their long, brown trunks showcased many
Knots
      Twists
              Turns
As they reached for the
Ominous grey clouds above.
The trees swayed in unison,
Shaking their branches
To silent music.
Even in the thickest part of the forest,
Where the trees have
Tangled their wooden arms togehter,
There was still a
Strong, undeniable sense of Loneliness.
A Whisper of forgotten moments
That I did not Dare disturb.

2:19 am
The only noise is coming from his boots
Meeting the laminate wood floors.
I should be sleeping, but I cant help but
Notice the frustration in his steps.
Another long night at work?
My mother's voice cracks as she pleads him
To come to bed.
Her footsteps are only a whisper as she walks
Back to their room, alone.

2:23 am
The sound of a beer bottle opening
Echoes in my mind.
It made me nervous how he found
More comfort in a drink
Than in her arms.

2:33 am
I remember how he said I take after my mother.
And it stings to think I could spend
My whole life with someone
Who could hardly stand me
And call it happiness.

There is something about the way you try to behave when you are holding me.
You pull my shirt down over my stomach
....and trace my hip bones so softly, all the wine glasses shatter.
You pull my hair out of my face, away from my neck,
And go in for the ****.
Kissing me into a secret heaven I never heard of in church. You're one sin I don't want to be saved from.

And I didnt believe in God until I felt your hands on my skin. Because nothing that perfect came from a drunken party accident.

Accident.

As if you could be anything other than deliberate.  Anything other than precise.  You take what you want, but share it with me until I'm far past breathless.

You fill up all my empty spaces, be it in my chest, my mind, or the prized gap between my thighs.
The bed sheets are jealous of how warm you keep me.

My bones still snap-crackle-pop,
Protesting to getting out of bed
And facing the day.

I know you won't be there today.
Tomorrow.
Next week.
Next year.

But now at least, I know that I will.

I am myself
I am myself
I am myself

I am not construction paper torn in two.

I am not a metaphor.

I am myself.

One day, that will be enough.

*******.
I'm trying to write and it's all about
You.

I am tired
Of writing about you.
I don't want to remember
Your hand in mine.
I don't want to think about
How you kissed me
Or how you touched my face
Or how you called yourself
Superman.

I'm done
Writing ******, sad poetry
About you
As if you hung the ******* moon.