Like a dandelion cracking the concrete,
your love took root in infertile earth.
The surface of my soul was scorched and barren but when you looked at it you saw opportunity and potential.
You took root and our love grew into a forest of redwoods and wildflowers.
You brought life to a place that thought it died.
I’m sure you’ve forgotten the feeling of
the curve of my waist when your hand settles on it
the way silken strands of my hair slip between your fingers
the way my exhale feels against your neck
But I still remember
the way you drunkenly texted me at 2am
saying “i know it’s late,
but i can’t stop thinking about kissing you
and you falling asleep on my arm.”
the way you take your coffee,
strong and black.
the way you held my hand across the table
how your hand felt on my thigh,
sitting in the passenger seat of your car
while we listened to that song by Brand New
i hope i can make you remember, too.
50mg Zoloft (or 0. or 200. it doesn’t really matter)
a pack a day (to be consumed in chains, usually outside in the freezing rain)
a handle of your choosing (to help you get a handle)
Crack a bottle of xanax in a bowl and mix with a handle until you feel light and fluffy.
wait until enough tears rise to the surface, then shake until eyes are glazed over. smoke your cigs until the rain dampens your lighter beyond repair.
get baked 4-6 hours at your 360 degree program university. take yourself out but know you will never cool enough to fit in here.
The last thing I said to you was "are you going then?"
I wish I knew the weight in those words
When they fell off my tongue.
The last thing you said to me was "im sorry".
I knew the weight in those words
When they hit me like a ton of bricks.
Looking back now
Through my crushed rose petal glasses,
I only liked you when you were coming.
happy wine wednesday.
My hands smell like smoke and coffee
because nicotine and caffeine (and fluoxetine, duloxetine, paroxetine) make me remember to forget what it’s like to be this lonely.
There’s wine on my breath (9 dollar grape flavored paint stripper) and I'm so high my face could kiss the ceiling because this is what we call making friends.
And I know when I’m drunk I forget to remember to forget to feel and i spill out my heart to the lowest bidder (and I spill out my drink to my lowest cut top) but sometimes the foggyheavyblurry thoughts shared with a southern boy over a menthol make the moment mean more than I would have shared when I started writing this poem at 11am this morning.
And even though I forgot to wash my face and lock my door and my hands still smell like smoke and my heart is heavy with loneliness, I know I found solace in the simple smile he shared with me when I said
I was fucked up.
everything is fine.
everything is okay.
You told me I was too good to cut myself,
So I put down the blade, because I wanted to be perfect in your eyes.
But now my chosen method of torture
Is picking up the phone
And scrolling through your fucking Instagram feed
Because seeing how happy you are without me is a scarless form of self destruction.
Because at the end of it all,
I spilled my soul and blood and tears in your name
And mine isn't even worth the waste of your breath.