Is hurt, really hurt, if nobody knows the pain that you feel?
Is pain, really pain, if you don't complain?
Is it real?
If you keep it inside, did you really hide the way that you feel?
Is what you feel, really real?

Really, who are all these new people?
You call them your "best friends" but I know that that's bull.
They've been around for the laughs and the fun,
But they don't know the you when the day is all done.
They haven't known you for even a year.
They haven't been there through a single tear.
You haven't taken them into your fights.
They didn't comfort you on your rough nights.
You didn't contribute to their very best days.
And I guess you can be "best friends" in all different ways,
But I sit up at night and constantly wonder
About that secretive blanket that you keep them under,
And I hope that it's never been that way with me
Even if our bond isn't as easy.
Let's face it,
I came to you in one of life's different stages.
You were difficult to get through to and you kept your emotions in cages.
You let me in slowly, and I did the same.
Our conversations never had a moment of embarrassment or shame.
You now know my whole soul, the cons and the pros.
You've been by my side through the highs and the lows.
I know for the others, you can't say the same.
So, why is it that amongst their lists of "best friends", is your name?

I have not written
in so long
Because everything I think of
just seems wrong.
My pen hits the paper
And my hand starts to shake
My body's so tired
And my head always aches.

I'm sorry,
that I couldn't have been what you wanted.
but then,
how
could I have been what you wanted
if I didn't know what that was?
you see,
I've always blamed myself
for breaking our world.
but,
this was a two way street.
I can't read minds,
I don't have superpowers.
if you want something,
you have to tell me what you want.
relationships aren't about guessing.
relationships aren't about reading minds.
I'm not sorry,
that I couldn't guess what you wanted.
as for you not being what we needed,
I'm sorry.

I said I wouldn't write about you anymore,
but,
suddenly the words are flowing out of me
faster than the current down a river
during a storm.
I said I didn't care about you anymore,
but,
oh man, it really hurt to hear it coming from you.
it's like my brain said that I didn't care,
but my heart didn't get the memo.
and when my brain said I wouldn't write,
my hand must not have been there.
I know I said I wouldn't write about you anymore,
but,
after this, I can't make any more promises.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it