Dear World,
I apologize
if this seems like a cheap attempt
at romanticizing
something that is
already dead.

but i must at least
try and put down
my feelings of joy and love
before they are all too quickly drowned
in the sea of bitterness
pain and hate.

I must first write
about how gentle
his kisses were
how strong and tender
his touch was,
how much love i saw
when i looked in his eyes.

(before i turn and call him,
devils spawn,
son of a gun
worthless good for nothing.)

I should mention
his words of love
his meaningful
promises
and how i needed
to believe him

(before i say out loud
how deceitful he was,
lying pond-****.)

I'll try to tell you,
how it felt to be
loved by him
and to love him back
how strong we were
how we both let this go

(before i dump the weight of guilt at his door,
and sum it all with its his fault)

i will say now and here,
how much I love him
still
and how much i miss him
and wish him well
and want him back.

(then for sure i will walk out tall
and proclaim my disenchantment
and wish a plague of a thousand years on him,
and tell the world i do not love him
and never will)

so world again forgive me,
for this confusion
that i add
to your foray of days
but i must.

The smell of coffee and black sharpie fill your senses
Dragging yourself out of bed, you wrap the sheet around your naked body
Your head hurts more with every movement, every thought.

The sticky note on the door
written in small, squished, boy-like writing
"I never promised you forever."

I
Am.
I have no need to be
Enveloped in hypocrisy,
Or write a novel, climb a tree,
Or contemplate a bumblebee.
There is no benefit for me
To finding the square root of 3,
Or calculating the number phi
To digit three-hundred-thirty-three.
I only feel the need to be
The me that I was meant to be.
I’ll find a way to just be free,
And settle down and simply
Be.

I’ve seen you and your paper smile,
Trying hard to tape up every rip
And smooth out every crumple.
Careful near that water;
You know how you tend to fall apart.
But the thing about paper is
Everyone can write on it,
Crease it,
Sign it and
Read it
Until it is not a piece of paper,
But a testament
To a lack of self-respect.

Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how