"I can’t stop crying because I know you’re gone. 
My friends tell me you never really loved me, because if someone loved another, they’d never leave them. Especially not in the darkest of times. 
I know you’re gone and I should be over it.
I know you’re gone, and crying isn’t going to bring you back. I know you’re gone, and no amount of poetry I write will result in you calling me up at 4 am. You don’t want me anymore, and I realized that the second you quit your good morning and goodnight texts. I watched you unlove me when our love spun out of control, and hit rock bottom. The funny thing is, I only loved you more from that moment on. But I know, I know. I know I’m never going to hear you sing to me again. I know you won’t pick up my calls at the first ring like you used to, because lately I’m just forwarded to voicemails. I get it. What we had was up and down, and I can’t expect you to love me forever.
Even though you told me you wouldn’t mind doing that. You told me you wanted to get as close as possible to forever with me.
I know you’re gone. But when will my heart finally understand what my brain already does?
I wish I could forget, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m meeting new people, but somehow only the sound of your voice still echoes in my mind."

step one.
you close your eyes.
you close them tight.
then you press your palms
against your
closed eyelids,
until
you start seeing red spots that remind you
of a song you wrote
for someone so long ago.
that someone doesn't matter anymore,
not really, so eventually,
neither will he.

step two.
you wear a nightgown.
the one with the lacy v neck, the one
that exposes your thighs,
the one with the vintage roses.
you wear it to bed to remind yourself
that you don't have to wear his attention
like a perfume
to feel ****.

step three.
you listen to those songs.
you know which ones.
you listen to them and sing or rap along
until your throat is sore, until
your chest hurts. do it
until you don't know why you're crying,
then write a song about why
you are crying,
so that when you look back,
you can see that it doesn't matter.
heartache fades.

step four.**
dive into a body of water in only
your under garments.
force yourself
to swim,
no matter how much
you want
to drown.

we always met in between lovers*

we were 16 and broken hearted
he hurt me and she left you
and somewhere in the pain
we found each other for a moment
we were always a moment
never to be more
but for that moment
we didn't want more

few years later and we found ourselves
someone else
and silence prevailed over our bond
and that was okay;
i never told him about you
you never told her about me
we didn't need to
we were a moment
a moment gone
a moment preserved
and those years, they passed
i lost track
of where you were or who you became

until
we met in between lovers

she couldn't be with you anymore
i couldn't be with him anymore
we came back with new stories
new heartbreaks to share
we came back with memories
that we couldn't bare
to lose
we came back with the need
to not be alone for a while
someone to hear the
silence of our words
and so we spoke
and we spoke
and found comfort that we would never be
we could never be
and that was what made it
so easy
and we spoke
about loss and love
and so i spoke
about how i missed his touch
and so you spoke
about the smell of her hair
and so i spoke
about the color of his eyes
and so we laughed
about that day when this happened
and so we cried
about that day when that happened
and we spoke.
and we spoke.
and we spoke.

we always met in between lovers
we would never be lovers
we didn't need to be.

few years down the line
i wonder if i'll see you again
and it's bittersweet
because meeting you
means i have lost another
and i wonder
why do we always meet
not as friends
but
brokenhearted
between lovers?

this is (not) a heartache poem
about
you or the way
your eyes stood glossy and
your mouth silent
in large crowds of people –
your
demeanour slowly playing
over me
time and time again,
even when i swore to myself that i would
shut you out
for good
but,
like your smile stuck in my brain,
it kept coming
back.

please understand that there is (no)
heartache here
because this is(n’t) a
poem
about how i spent my life in
paragraphs
filled with every beautiful,
treacherous
word i could think of
while you lived in
shallow, broken
sentences
or
how i could see you perfectly
through the flesh and bone and *******
that
nobody else knew about.

could you see
how much
i longed for you to
take me in the way i
was –
speak to me in the carefully rationed
words of your
stories –
anything that could’ve
brought me closer to you but instead,
only burned
inconceivably
in the wildfires of all you
cared about?

did i end up in those fires too?
were you so certain that i would just
forget
how you stopped sending me
the texts
that i waited
oh-so long for?

were you so certain that i
would have
let you slip away so easily
after the way you lead me to
believe
there was something
between us?

well, i did(n’t),
yet, just the thought of it
kills
me to remember how
you were the brightest star in my universe but
i
was just a mere speck of dust
in yours.

this will (not) be another poem
where
i dream about
watching every bone in
your body cave in
or
feeling your breath
against my ears
but (no),
trust me, there is (no) heartache
that i have
for you
or anything you ever did
in the last seven months we spent
together
that always left me dreaming
on a prayer -
but never listened to.

i know you didn’t want me.
i know you didn’t care.
i was just another one to you.

this is (not) a poem about
how i’m now
broken
because you left me
even though
you weren’t mine –

for where i am
now is(n’t)
heartache.

I want to talk to you so bad
So so badly
But I can't

I want you to hold me
Tell me everything is going to be okay
But you won't

How come I think of you
When times are dark and blue?
You'd surely know what to do

I would hold your hand until the storm in my head calms down
And we would smile and know that nothing can destroy us
But we won't
And we never will

i've got my eyes set on the sky but my feet are nailed to the ground. gravitational pulls and cosmic love are contradictory, what can i say?

you can't see where i get it from though, all this love love love love, and babe neither can i. it lights me on fire and tears me to shreds, it makes me scared to go to bed, and all this thinking of the love i can't get to rest when i do, it keeps me awake at night.

i have no time to die, i've got things to do and people to see and nothing you say can stop me. (except for those three words that blue eyed wonder has said to me lately- but i am his friend, i am his friend, and he love love loves me, so you can't stop me, you can't.)

these days i have become well acquainted with these facts.
a. i am not loved
b. i can not be loved
c. i am broken
d. i will always be broken
and e. no one wants to share this madness that drips from the words i speak when i'm sober. (i'm always sober the only thing i've ever been drunk on is love love love. god i have so much. oh god, i can't stop.)

i'll swing like sinatra, rock like a rolling stone baby, and remind everyone of the mixtapes they used to love love love when they played seven minutes of heaven in their mother's closets on a saturday. the closet i used to hide in, but i'm clean now, wearing green, and my name is blue blue blue.

i'll have a little baby girl one day. i'll call her baby blue and she'll spit fires and cry snow flakes, and she'll remind everyone of how they used to love love love love love.