If I wrote you a letter,
would you read it?
Would you see how
my love for you has scattered?
For I can only write you
my hateful letters,
where a single word
screams in abuse,
and maybe it might strike
your heart in a way
that makes you want to die...

If I wrote you a letter,
would you surrender,
and scream in submission,
bow down in admission?
If I wrote you a letter,
would you mistake
a knife for an eraser?
Because I did,
and you never wrote me a syllable...

I will not prove you right,
I am not in need of you.
You inspire me
like a gone mind
inspires a gun;

Now I'm grown,
Now my skin's thicker;
I will not dig my own grave
because you chose to pull the trigger.
So, if I wrote you a letter,
you still wouldn't matter
to me.

In this dangerous situation,
I don't want you to be an enemy,
But I can't hide my opposition
to how you deal my heart
your blasphemy;
I am quiet, but I care,
I am quiet, but I bleed
when hit by your darts,
So convince me blood is art,
as I fall into your snare,
I see you have it in you
to split me apart,
but I have it in me
*to forget you by heart.

I'm sorry its been so long,
I'm sorry I'm not as strong.
I'm sorry I'm so busy with my job,
But baby please don't sob.
I want to do us better,
Therefore I write you this letter.
For me its been tough,
For you its been rough.
I'm sorry to keep you at a distance,
But my love for you has no resistance.
I swear I'll do my best,
Or you can leave me like the rest.
But baby please don't leave me,
I don't want you to flee.
Baby please hear me plea,
And accept my apology.

I've always known that I can't write happy poems
happy poems are inspiring.
happy.
unsure.
a fantasy.
and there's something about insincerity that disrupts the beauty of poetry

so I write about pain, and wounds, and melancholy
I write about it so often that I have become fluent in the language of depression
I can tell you the whole history of every scar
and I can show how crippled my heart has become

but I can't tell you the last time I was happy
or if I was ever happy.
happiness feels so foreign in my mouth
but the thorns in my throat feel like home.
a broken and dysfunctional home,
but home nonetheless.

so keep this in mind, beloved one,
I would love you with my broken heart
but it would never change the number of poems I would want to write when I look at you.

you are beautiful
but are you
art?

You loved him, didn't you?
The way his eyes sparked in the light.
You loved him, didn't you?
The way he held on to you so tight.
You loved him, didn't you?
The way he sounded when he would sing.
You loved him, didn't you?
The way he laughed at everything.
You loved him, didn't you?
The way he'd smile when he caught you staring.
You loved him, didn't you?
The way he was so gentle and caring.
You couldn't show him, could you?
Because he now decided he didn't want your heart.
You were broken, weren't you?
Because you already give it to him from the very start.