tomorrow was never promised. I know that, I guess I always knew that. one day too many yesterday's ago you told me that eventually, one day, we'd be waking up to each other in a bed two sizes too big for only two people but that was okay because your voice always had a way of filling every empty space, the void in the air or the empty between our sheets. a bed two sizes too big can quickly become two sizes too small when all you want to do is fall into a set of arms that are no longer laying there. too many yesterdays ago we spoke of tomorrows and forevers, of sunday mornings and tuesday brunch and kitchen counters and coffee tables. we spent days staring at globes picking out all the places where we knew we'd never go, and I couldn't breathe when you finally decided to pack your bags and leave.
part of me hoped you'd come back.
part of me still does.

what you don't know
is that amongst the midnight hours of slumber
my fingers still subconsciously reach
for your skin
and I want to dive down under
twelve blankets and a comforter
with you
and do some 2 a.m soul searching
what you don't know
is that your name still manages to fall out of my mouth every single morning when the six o'clock sunshine streaks my face
its almost as warm as your touch was
and when people ask my how I've been I feel like the biggest compulsive liar on the planet as I more or less continuously state that I'm okay
I'm not okay
its getting harder every day to put the pieces of your face back together in my head
I'm not okay
and your voice sounds a little different each time I try to replay it in my mind
its been years since I've heard you say my name
I'm not okay
I miss you every day
but you probably don't miss me at all
and no, I am not okay

it took me many years to figure out
why your love of math was so prevalent
to understand that you developed
a passion for consistency
and certainty
an assuring stability that you were
sure to find with the order of operations
or the apothecary system
a kind of reassurance that wasn't
compatible with me
and i have since come to terms with
my hatred of chemistry
because things in science cannot
be proven
only disproved
just like your love for me cannot be proven
only disproved over time and
with old age
and how someday i know i will
resemble a cold mug of coffee sitting
immotile on your kitchen counter
waiting for the occasional stir which
i know all too well will eventually
stop coming
as i watch with the utmost silence
you sip from your piping hot tea.

My body is a work of art, crafted equal parts by my parents and the stars and Jupiter. The blood that runs through my veins is golden. I am stitched together with ribbons of resilience and strength. I am unbreakable. Invincible. You cannot touch me.

I love the way your lips say my name and how something about your tongue tastes like sunshine on mine and your voice sounds like summer during the day and star dust at night and I aspire to make you acutely aware of how incredible it is to lose myself in your laughter and find myself in your veins I want to wake up each and every morning on the wrong side of the right bed with your sheets tangled around my ankles and your fingers intertwined with mine and I want to look at you through sun kissed bedroom air and tired eyes and tell you how ******* beautiful you are

I'm damaged goods.
the mail-in rebate you'll never quite get around to sending.
rather you neatly sit it atop your chestnut coffee table, politely acknowledge it's existence, and try to remember to buy postage stamps for an envelope you believe you will mail.
you won't.
you will ignore it.
just as you have ignored me.
legs crossed, sitting atop the coffee table we never bothered to buy, scraped knees and insecurities that you have tried your best to deny.
the mail in rebate will one day expire.
I pray that I will not.

This feels like a nightmare I've already had too many times before
Only now, I can't manage to wake up
I'm not sure who you were trying to convince when you said you wished this wasn't happening
I wish I could remember the last good day we had
Because all I can seem to remember is four years ago when we were so young and so dumb and so ******* naive and now
And there's no in between
I remember looking at you like you were some kind of God
who swooped down from the sky and saved me
I loved you so much it consumed me
and I didn't ever plan on stopping
The saddest sentence I ever said to you was
"I'm sorry things didn't work out the way we always thought they would."
I wanted you to tell me to shut up
That I had nothing to be sorry for or
that our time wasn't up,
that we still had a chance,
that you still loved me enough to try one more time or a hundred more times,
that love was enough,
but all you said was
*"Me, too."

I want the boy who's never even bothered to pick up a pencil in his spare time to fall for me so **** hard the only form of solace he finds is in filling notebooks with poetry about how my eyes look like the sunsets he never bothered to watch before he met me, how my skin is so soft he has to say it out loud just to feel the words on his tongue, how my kiss sent him to heaven and how he felt like he had it better here on earth in my bed. And I know I'm not the only ******* the planet, but I want to give him tunnel vision; sunglasses tinted with love so strong that he's only able to see me in everyone he meets, see my face on crowded streets and hear my voice is silent rooms. I want him to love me more than I loved you. I want him to show me that it's possible.

looking back on the distance
all the time spent apart and alone
and worrying
and wondering
feeling as though time
was taking its sweet time
and oh, how it was
i remember i would sit in bed at night
and stare at pictures of you until
my eyes were wet with tears
i realized i couldn't remember your face
the details
i thought of you and i couldn't see it
and the pictures never do you justice
i remember waking up each morning
to the crushing defeat
of another long day without you
ahead of me
crawling back into bed at night
thinking,
my god, this is exhausting,
this marathon of missing you.
and oh, how it was
i remember feeling like the end
was nowhere in sight
and this distance would **** me

and now
the only thing that separates us
is a handful of days
and a layover in charlotte
hours away from you
i'm looking back at the day we said goodbye
and smiling
for once
because we are so incredibly close
to the best hello
these airport walls
have ever seen

I'm sorry
That I'm sorry
Is all I can manage to say
Because I feel guilty
that I am jealous of
your favorite books
and sleeping blankets
Jealous because I want
to be the only thing
that envelopes you when
your mind is elsewhere

And I'm sorry
that I'm selfish
Because I wish
I was your bathroom mirror
I wish that you looked at me
and expected to see
yourself looking back

But I'm more sorry
that I'm greedy
Because zero clothes between
us still doesn't seem to suffice
in the category of proximity
And if I could find a way
to be closer to you than skin on skin
I am not ashamed to say
that I would

I'm sorry
that this is less of an apology
and more of a proclamation
That I have no viable explanation
as to why I mumble
nonsense in my sleep
saying things like I wish
I was your heartbeat
Because I know that probably
doesn't make much sense to you
at all

So I'm sorry
for being sorry
about things that seem so small

It's back
the all too familiar ache
that demands
attention
and necessitates
acknowledgement
yet again
I am reminded
of you

loving you
was like having heart burn
on the wrong side of my chest
and doing my best to pretend
that still I felt nothing
in all of the places where
you once touched me

neck
collarbone
the backside of my knees

you destroyed me from the inside out
with such delicacy
that at times
I convinced myself it wasn't even
happening

loving you was a disease
that I wish
I could remember having

but now
I simply
feel
nothing

In that moment we shared a glance, and he saw straight into the depths
of my soul.
I saw myself in his eyes and
felt his heart beat against my chest,
keeping perfect rhythm.

"I'm in love with you," he told me, as if
it was the first time he had said the words.
but it wasn't
and for some strange reason, it felt
as though it was.
Like everything was clear now, and
every time he had said it before was just practice.
This was real.

He gathered me in his arms and
I let myself fall into him,
Listening to the soft sound of his breathing
and feeling the rise and fall of his
back under my arms.
"I love you," he whispered in my ear.
The words flowed so gently
and with such ease that I remembered
he had been saying that same sentence
countless times a day for the past year of my life,
only this time was different.
It felt different in my stomach and
brought the snowball to my throat
that I got when I tried my hardest
not to cry.

I closed my eyes and realized I
had never seen a moment
more beautiful than this,
even though my eyes were closed.
"I love you," I told him,
and in that moment,
I knew I had never spoken any words
more true than those.

it hurts. it hurts like you never thought it could hurt, never imagined it could hurt. it hurts to be alone, it hurts to know that you don't have him anymore. and what does that even mean, anyway? to have him?
for me it meant safety. it meant never wondering how you were going to spend your free time. it meant always having someone to tell your secrets to, someone's hand to hold, someone to hold you, someone to kiss. it meant having someone to love.
it hurts, having all of that taken away. all of the circumstances, every reason that led up to it; they're all irrelevant because nothing makes it hurt any less.
it's kind of like walking around with a hole in your chest. a big, enormous, gaping hole where your heart used to be.
one time I cried at the orthodontist, and it was awkward and all - lying there, crying with some strangers hands in my mouth.
but it's been even worse at night, lying in bed, crying, when someone who used to be my entire world has their hands inside my chest, scraping out the half of their heart I'd become so accustomed to carrying around, I actually let myself believe it was my own.
it hurts. I know.
and I'm so, so sorry.

It's 3 a.m,
and a month ago, I would have drugged myself to sleep to simply steal a few hours of blissful unconsciousness.
I would have cried until I couldn't any longer, I would have thumbed through each and every photo of you, your voice would have been my last cognizant thought.
I would wake up and convince myself that if I had to, I would wait an eternity for you.

It's 3 a.m,
and now, I'm not thinking of you.
I haven't touched my sleeping pills all week, and I'm staring at the stars realizing that even the smallest victories are worth celebrating. I no longer close my eyes and hope to see your face when I finally decide to open them again. I smile, and you are not the reason why.

It's 3 a.m,
and your body wasn't the last one to be in my bed. Your hands will soon forget the feeling of my skin beneath your palms, all the while his fingertips are rejoicing at the sensation and singing hallelujah in their sleep. You let me go, and he can't stand to watch me leave.

It's 3 a.m,
and finally,
finally,
finally,
I am free

I wish to identify myself
with every familiar part of you
to turn and face you at the break
of dawn and find comfort in the way
you breathe as you awake
and rest quite contently on your shoulders
as they bear the impossible weight
of an apology

I took shelter beneath your finger tips
as they turned the pages
of your favorite book
and I found myself seeking refuge
in your palms as you shook
my fathers hand

the same hand that held a
million different demanded
apologies and fragments of
broken promises and hooks
that wrenched themselves
around our hearts and
sunk down into our skin

the same hand that shoke
hastily at the arms of rapture
with veins that resembled
lightening strikes embedded in
our flesh

I want to forget the rest
of the world and go get
lost inside your chest
I want to call your body home
make friends with your bones and
take shelter beneath your ribcage

your smile radiates a rendered
warmth that my lips
haven't felt in days,
and as I turn to face your empty
bed side at the break of dawn
my mind suddenly recalls
the way your lips curled up
as you said you'd always stay

where, oh where have you gone

I moved into our new apartment building
and for two weeks
every time I heard someone in the hallway outside our front door
I imagined it was you
coming home to me

for two weeks
I had every light in our place on
all the time
to let myself pretend
this home was occupied
and wished
I had someone
to argue over
the electric bill
with

for two weeks
I went to the beach
and sat alone
stared out into the ocean
for hours
until the sun burned my skin
and the sand found it's way
into my eyes
here
I allowed myself
to think for a moment
that you are only miles
away from me
just out of my reach
but safe
nonetheless

for two weeks
I looked out the bedroom window
and the kitchen window
and the living room window
all the windows I could find
searching for your car
your face
you

in two weeks we came so close
to seeing each other
and yet
we're still so far apart

for two weeks I checked my phone
two hundred times a day
I sent you texts
I knew you would not answer
or receive
and called to tell your voicemail
goodnight

for two weeks I fought back tears
in grocery stores
as I bought entirely too much food
for just one person
but I filled up the cart anyway
because what if you come home?
the milk went sour
and the bread ran dry
and I took out four bags of trash
by myself

in two weeks
I transformed a house into a home
without you
I hung decorations you have never seen
in a place you have never been
I bought furniture
without asking your opinion
on the tan sofa
or the gray one
I had to make these decisions
without you
I put together our dinner table
and ate at it alone
I found
this home feels one hundred times
more empty
with all these furnishings
that are meant to accommodate
several people
and yet
here I am
alone

for two weeks
for two months
I've waited
and god
please let it be over soon

this heartbreak isn't textbook. it isn't like those movies, or those books, or anyone's anything. bracing yourself for impact is an impossibility. nothing - and listen to me when I say nothing - can prepare you for this pain. you begin to miss everything. everything you thought you'd never miss: his obnoxious little brother and his father playing guitar too loud and the way his mother said the word "vegetables" and never having enough room to sleep. now I don't think I could get close enough to you if I tired. the closest I am getting to you these days is when your sign is next to my sign in a horoscope. and I know you don't believe in those but this is the only hope I have left. the barnum statements of romance hold no weight until I am told that we are perfect for each other. do you believe in alternate universes? maybe in another world we are happy together, eating popsicles and sharing sticky kisses. the truth is this poem is wearing on me. I'm tired of discussing the possibility of there being another you and another me together happy on a somewhere else far away. I am tired of writing the I miss you poem. I am tired.

note: I will continue to write the I miss you poem until my fingers break.

I am many things,
none of which are seemingly significant in any sort of the manner.
However, everything that I am,
I can assure you, you are not.

I am the orange sun blazing bright in the morning sky,
clouded by last nights storm.
You are the rain, the torrential downpour and encore of rain,
cold and dark and inhumane.

I am the tulip rejoicing for spring,
pushing my way up through the earth,
my pedals the crown of a king.
You are the dirt, the godforsaken dirt,
suffocating and undulating the cause of
my aching pain.
I am an old song, the melodious symphony
of all notes played wrong.

And yet as broken heart strings bled the blues,
I reached into the sky and handed every star to you.

I am many things,
none of which are seemingly significant in any sort of the manner.
However, everything that I am,
I can assure you, you are not.

I am the orange sun blazing bright in the morning sky,
clouded by last nights storm.
You are the rain, the torrential downpour and encore of rain,
cold and dark and inhumane.

I am the tulip rejoicing for spring,
pushing my way up through the earth,
my pedals the crown of a king.
You are the dirt, the godforsaken dirt,
suffocating and undulating the cause of
my aching pain.
I am an old song, the melodious symphony
of all notes played wrong.

And yet as broken heart strings bled the blues,
I reached into the sky and handed every star to you.

Whenever I hear a car roll down my street, I stop and think for a second that it might be you. I know it's just my brain playing tricks on me. I know it isn't you. It never is. And still, when I hear the engine stop and a car door slam shut, my stomach ties itself in knots. I know it isn't you. It never is. And here I am, looking out my window at the empty street, pretending not to acknowledge how absolutely ******* pathetic this is.

I want to open up my bedroom window and listen to the warm summer rain and call you and tell you I love you. That this morning I remembered how I'd try to massage your legs and you'd laugh so hard because your legs were ticklish and how I could never actually massage your legs and I love you. I want to ask if sometimes all these memories wash over you unexpectedly too, pulling you under, drowning you. I want to tell you that it's okay to call and tell me when it happens and that I love you and we can teach each other how to swim again. And I love you.

I miss you. I'm out of fancy, poetic ways to say it any differently - to make it sound prettier or less desperate. sometimes I drive past your house late at night just to satiate this burning nostalgia inside my chest. I convince myself I'm not going out of my way but I am and every part of me knows it and none of these parts care. it's been five months to the day and this hollow in my heart has never felt so empty. I am in class and my professor thinks I'm taking notes - maybe I am. I don't want to forget these details, I don't want to part with this pain - not yet, anyway. this ache is all I have left. I know you don't care anymore and I'm sorry I can't seem to let go, I'm sorry for going down with the ship that's been sinking for years. they say too much time has separated the two of us but I say that's *******. we can go back and I can find you again. I know you don't want to be found. I know you do not even think you are lost. you said I couldn't accept the fact that you didn't love me anymore. you were right.

We were drinking
and by now I should know
that Jack and Coke
do not mix well with me
you start talking about her
again
I start talking about him
and it's weird but it isn't
because anything feels natural
with you
"I just wish she wasn't my first,"
you'd said
I nod because I know what it is
to feel like that
I tell you about the time
I went to his house
crying like a fool
ending each subsequent sentence with
"I was so stupid"
and I was
I turn to you and say,
"Once you love someone like that,
you never love anyone else like that again."
You nod
and it's quiet for a little while
Thinking back on that conversation now
I meant what I said
I do not love you like I loved him
just as you don't love me
like you loved her
and that's hard to swallow until
you realize
that I love you so much more
than I have ever loved anyone
or anything
so much more
than I even thought
was possible
So no
I don't love you like that
I love you more
than I can comprehend.

I am not scared of the dark anymore.
I no longer have the need to check every closet and corner of our home before I feel safe and certain that no one else is here.
Sometimes I even leave and don't bother to lock the door behind me.
And maybe I'm becoming careless. Or maybe my fears have simply shapeshifted into nameless beings; feelings rather than things.
I am afraid of losing you. I am no longer afraid of the dark, but now when the phone rings, before I even have time to think, I am worrying that it is the call. The call saying that something terrible has happened to you. The apologies. Strangers saying your name and me falling to my knees.
I am no longer compulsive about investigating the possibility of an intruder in our home, rather now I am compulsive about investigating all the possibilities in which you never make it back home to me. The thoughts fall through the cracks in my mind like quicksand and I am left standing with a blank look in my eyes. I am obsessive over every detail, I am consumed with every second of time we have left together, it's all I can think about.
And I no longer lock our front door. Maybe I am careless, or maybe I am leaving it open for the possibility that at any given moment, you might come walking through it, as nonchalantly as businessmen do at 5pm on a Tuesday. Regular, normal, routine.

It's been so many months since I've seen you
So many months
Of silence
Of waiting
Praying, hoping, wondering
More waiting
So many months have separated us
That now when I look back at our pictures
I feel like a stranger
Looking back on memories I can barely remember
The pictures feel like dreams
From a foggy afternoon nap
I don't recognize the closeness
I can't recall the intimacy
It all feels so far away
So far gone
That when I say I'm not even sad anymore
I mean it
I miss you of course
I miss being happy, really happy
But I'm not sad anymore
It isn't a new pain
It's hardly even a pain at all
And that worries me because missing you felt so routine
It was the only way I felt close to you
Missing you
Was a part of me
The sadness was my rawest form of intimacy
The closeness of concentration at night
Trying to remember your arms wrapped around me like anchors
All the times I begged you to stay
All the times I knew you couldn't
It's been so many, many months
And still, I wait

Remove heart from your chest and
throw it on the ground.
Sift through the lies until
it doesn't make a sound.
Mix it in a bowl until
the blood turns cool as ice.
Now whisk it on the stove top and
saute it over night.
Check progress in the morning and
if all goes well as planned,

you have a recipe for a heartache that
no one will understand.

As he looked into her eyes
his hand crept across her chin,
He tried to emphasize the scent that
lingered on her skin.

fresh cut wood and faded dreams,
Rich red wine and nicotine.
If looks could ****, and hers they would,
He'd lose the ground on which he stood.

But dreams sprout wings and off they flew,
Off to the place where dandelions grew.
He'd take her hand and off they'd go,
Off to the place where only they know.
And their eyes locked tight,

this moment they'd miss,
As they shared one final midnights kiss.

I spent the larger part of my life
waiting for the other shoe to drop
with everything
maybe that's why I'm still stuck
in this rut of waiting to find out
what your catch is

maybe it's something as insignificant
as the fact that you take your eggs
over easy instead of sunny side up
or your coffee so black we won't be able
to share a mug on the mornings we
don't feel like braving outside the bubble
of our future bedroom

or maybe it's something as fatal
as not believing in things like
second chances
or true love
or miracles

because is it not miracle enough
that in this sick cosmic joke the universe
has been playing on both of us for years
we are here now and we found
each other

              is it not miracle enough
that we are here together today
here today tangled up
in my bed sheets and each other
sharing secrets and kisses and writing
love letters in the sign language of
your fingers dancing along my spine or
your teeth grazing my bottom lip

              is it not miracle enough
that you love me like I've never
even been broken before
like four weeks ago I wasn't a disaster
unraveling in the palm of your hand
looking to you for solace
for answers we both knew you
couldn't give me
even if you
wanted to

                is it not miracle enough
that we've made it this far
and no atom bombs have gone off
when we're alone with each other at
3 in the morning
doing anything
but sleeping

that the skies don't open up into black
holes when you leave me
              that you leave me
      and that you come back

               is it not miracle enough
that I love you
after swearing on every god anyone ever
believed in that I would never love again
that I love again
because of you


it is.

tell me, brother bear,
what was it that made me so naïve?
what was it about you
that made me believe
you thought of me
as blood?
my mother always taught me
that blood runs thicker than water

but you were never water to me

I was fourteen when we
began mixing drinks for the first time
that night with you, I never knew
there would be a second time
the deja vu was nearly missed
but I felt it
I smelled it in your breath and felt it
as I tipped the bottle back

the second time around
I wasn't quite sure
who exactly I was drinking for
or who I was lying to more

we were never blood

the ***** flooded my veins in such a way that his name even began to taste
like yours
and I wasn't sure why the door
seemed like such an impossible feat
to reach

but it was

and so we drank
I drank until I couldn't see straight
and your face didn't look so much
like your face
you drank until you were drunk enough
to kiss me
and I was drunk enough to stumble up
the stairs
fall into my own bed
and never tell a soul

but let's be honest, brother bear,
our blood was never shared

Usually it's okay until I come across an old picture
there aren't many of them now
mostly because in the midst of my great
breakdown I decided the best thing to do
was burn them all
as if the flames dancing across our smiling faces
could erase the pain I felt now
in the wake
of losing you
and take all of your lies with it

so let's go on pretending that it's over,
                                             that we're done
you don't have to call and I won't expect you to

so let's go on pretending that I'm fine and you're fine and everything is just fine
let's

     but it still happens

somehow an old photo finds its way into
my broken hands and at first I do
not even recognize the people
staring back at me

      it's like a carnival mirror

your reflection moves against the glass
in synchrony with you
your smile is your smile and your arms
are your arms but
it doesn't look like you

      so it's a little like that
your smile is my smile and my arms are wrapped around you
almost as if I knew
one day you would let me go

                                               muscle memory  
                                               is a real *****

I remember the way your hair felt
as I ran my fingers through it
you hated it when I did that

I remember the nape of your neck
how it tasted
how you tasted

I remember your skin against my palms
how you were always hot and I was always cold and we told ourselves we were a perfect match
playing with fire is dangerous
love is dangerous

love

I remember making it
almost as vividly
as I remember you breaking
my heart

my tongue is numb,
my hands are numb,
I
am numb


                                                              ­so what

just get rid of it, they say
you've burned all the rest

I know
but no
                                                              ­I can't

I'm keeping it because I know you've pitched all of yours
that in your universe there is no longer a shred of evidence tying you to me
painting the picture
of us being in love
          being happy

we used to be happy

                                               and I think I owe
                                               our past selves  
                                               that much

so I will continue to remember
               continue to feel it all
because I know you've learned
to walk,
but I
can only crawl.

If at the end of my days I could chose only one memory to keep,
It would be the day that seemed like days stuck on infinite repeat.
The entire weight of the universe rested on the words,
I watched his lips as they moved until my vision blurred.
"I love you,"  he whispered, and I knew the words were true.
Like innocence and certainty, the sky would marvel blue.

When you find yourself surrounded
by emptiness and despair,
walking into lonely rooms filled
with hollowed air,
come to me
take my hand
off to never never land.
Where you will never be alone
and never shed a tear,
off to never never land,
take my hand, my dear.

Clear moon, dear moon, pearling the air.
Guiding my way as I go here to there.
Into the unknown of the night for awhile,

Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Illuminating my path as I walk down the streets,
a bag on my back and no shoes on my feets.

Cream moon, dream moon, he opens his eyes,
beneath this ground is where his family lies.
He kneels to the earth and places a flower,
the clock striking midnight on the cemetery tower.

Still moon, chill moon, his eyes dark as the night,
His heart feeling heavy but his soul seeming light.
Blue moon, new moon, he kisses the ground,
like a life nearly lost but a soul newly found.

Somehow
the sadness connected us
We were alone in the world but
together through the silence in the air
that bred nostalgia and memories
we weren't fond of

I didn't have to see your wrists to know
that the skin had once been kissed
by the blade that all too often
tempted death
I didn't have to

because I had seen it in the way
your eyes fell to the floor when
you spoke my name,

how your voice cracked when
you apologized,

how on the rare occasion that
our eyes met you didn't look away
but you didn't smile either

I didn't need to hear the words to know
what you were saying
You were dying
but not dying at all

and that was the problem
Because you can't will yourself
to make your heart stop beating
even though sometimes
at 3 am you want to

But darling, I don't want you to
Don't go
Please
I need you more than I say

Press the pen down to the page,
let the blank ink spill its rage.
Filling endless nothingness with tales
from untold age.

Lose yourself, and lose again.
Let destruction of your soul begin.
Wagers from the devil ringing softly in your ear,
While snow flakes fall from heaven all around the silver sphere.

Remainders of your heart left in public disarray,
reminders from all evil that nothing gold can stay.

the monday morning migraine
rears its ugly head
yet again
it is 9:52
and I am thinking
about how you
can make a poem
out of anything
love letters and
hate letters
and
goodbye and
hello letters
all the same
because either
you feel the pain
now
or you save it
til the end
so I need someone
to tell me
what constitutes
an end

it was late one winter night
when I first realized
I was fighting a war I would never win
a fight that was fought within my own skin
skin that I realized
I would never feel comfortable in
now
I look at freckles like name tags
scars like reminders
and bruises as memories
that I wish I did not remember
I've since become accustomed to
long sleeves and blue jeans
and people asking things
like "how did you get that one?"
"oh, the door," I would quietly say,
never to tell that the door
had a name.

One day
You will meet someone who
makes you appreciate the sound
of rain dripping down
your window pane in June
And the way the street lights
make the wet glass look like
the stars in the sky of a
dark summers night

One day
You will meet someone who
will prove to you
that the second best sound
in the world is their laugh
Because first is their heartbeat
And they'll show you that
it's completely possible to
fall apart at the seams
when the rain subsides
and the water on their face
is not from the storm
but their tear stained eyes

One day
You'll meet someone who
will sit with you
by the fireplace sipping
your favorite coffee
Desperately trying not to let
you see his twisted face
Because he hates coffee's taste
But doesn't even care
because he adores the way
your body shifts when he
runs his fingers through your hair
as you rest your
head on his chest

It's true
I know, because one day
I met you

it has been one hundred and forty one days since I've seen you
since the day I decided to break all the rules
          the day that wasn't even supposed
     to happen
but I happened to find myself standing in your basement
staring at you for the first time in what felt like centuries but was only weeks
shaking like the ground had begun to quake beneath my feet
hoping
like a fool
that the desperate look in my eye
                                           or my trembling lips
               or the urgency in my voice
would be enough
to pull you back out from this person you've become
like a twisted form of reincarnation
that I do not even believe in

one hundred and forty one days later
and now
you only use me for ***
there are prettier ways of saying it
but there's nothing pretty about this
so I can't decide which is worse
the fact that you are using me for ***
or the fact that I am letting you
because it's been so long since anyone
has felt this close to me
since I've seen these beads of sweat condensating on your brow
the look in your eye
when you lose control
when you reach for my hand in hopes to
bring you back to this moment you
have lost yourself in
  you lost yourself in me
and see
a long time ago I lost myself in you
except the difference is
I'm not forming search parties
you can keep the pieces because I don't want them back

one hundred and forty one days later
I would much rather believe
that eventually
we can share them
again

It's 1 am
and I am giving you the green light
to kiss me for the first time
in a world where we've always been careful
to avoid the acknowledgement
of this particular intersection
tonight
it exists
and the both of us know it
with your hand in my hair and
my fingers around your neck
refusing to let go of each other
as if we're just now beginning
to make up for lost time
maybe that's why we're so insatiable
too much is never enough
and time is something we can't
ever
get enough of

It's 2 a.m
and I want to sing you to sleep
with songs of the flutter in my chest
and the blush on my cheeks when
you walk into a room
I want to hold the parts you
dislike about yourself in the palm
of my hands
and hold them like first time lovers
careful
and passionate
concerned not at all with the time
but instead the sweat
dripping down her spine
and his face when her eyes are wide
with something far stronger
than pleasure

It's 3 a.m.
and I want to love you so hard
that you wake up loving yourself too
there are not enough mirrors in the world
to accurately reflect yourself back to you
to make you see yourself
the way I have always seen you
there are not enough words in any language
to tell you all the things my heart feels
but my mouth doesn't know how to say
and I love you in ways other people
will never be able to
understand
because they can't feel my heart race
as you reach for my hand
or as your lips land on mine
or when time completely stops
as you mouth the words I love you

in a world where we have always been careful
to avoid the acknowledgement of this particular intersection
tonight
and forever
it exists

and i simply cannot help myself
because i've never loved anything
as much as i love you

i want my name to be the only one
that passes through your lips
i want to be the last hand
you ever hold
the final heart
you claim to grasp

you wanted to be my first
(i want to be your last)

I guess I was always best at making messes of things like the inside of your chest or the rest of the world. its a lot easier than anyone ever tells you to become addicted to the sick and twisted feeling in your stomach when you hear things like "he lives with his grandparents now" or "she tried to **** herself in ninth grade". cracked ribs and broken hearts are not one in the same. one will always hurt far worse than the other and it's always the one that hospitals can't fix. white washed walls and sterile hallways filled with empty people waiting for their lives to change raspy breath and pale skin I remember going to the hospital as a kid and asking "are there people dying in there?" my mother never did give me an answer. the truth is, there are people dying everywhere. only the lucky ones make it to the hospital. the truth is people die on bathroom floors with a stomach full of pills and a fist full of love letters that will never be sent. people die over the phone choking on a throat full of apologies they'll never spill. people die popping sorrys like pills and swallong broken teeth by eating glass as if it were easier than saying I love you for the last time. we break ribs to make space for people who have no intention of staying and the last time I spoke your name was three days ago in a drunken haze lying on my back and shouting to the moon "I love you more" wishing that it was you I've screamed your name to the raining sky more times that I'd like to say but each day I find myself swallowing your promises and choking on the forevers you ensured me we'd spend together as if you ever even meant it
you didn't
and I can't even ******* breathe because its always been me lying on the bathroom floor with more pills than I should even know exist with a fist full of letters I'll never get to kiss and I still pick up the phone just to hear the busy tone and mumble apologies until I dont know what I'm saying and I'm swallowing ***** bottles and chewing on glass to make saying I love you for the last time feel less like living and more like dying
im dying
im dying
im dying

Perhaps there are more words spoken in the midst of silence.
A tear, a touch, an embrace.
An invisible conversation opaque to anyone but the two.
A shattered soul, a heavy heart. Which as they kiss
Consume.

Perhaps there is love buried deep inside hate.
Waiting, watching, knowing.
Swallowed in a sea of empty promises and lies.
A sorrowed soul, a hollow heart. Which as they mix
Devise.

Perhaps there is a message in times of disbelief.
Hiding, hoping, planning.
A beam of faith shining bright behind the darkest drape.
A searching soul, a healing heart. Which as they meet
Escape.

one day everything falls apart. your hands and her promises and you heart. loving her turns into not sleeping. ever. that one day six months later when you finally saw her again and choking on not saying I love you before she left because you can't stand the thought of her not saying it back. the possibility. this ache. someone asks you what happened between the two of you and you say that even the continents came apart. they don't get it. you don't either. something breaks inside of you every time the wind blows and you smell her perfume. something harder than glass. they call this something hope. she knows where you live and she knows you never leave but she isn't coming back. make no mistake. there will be no surprise visits. no knock on your door at five a.m, no tear streaked hello's and no heartfelt I missed you's. no happy ending. no ending at all. just a belly full of whiskey and the last time she told you she loved you. her words feel like plagiarism in your ear. you wonder how her mother would feel about this. you wonder if her mother saw this coming a mile away. you wonder if her mother will always be right. you take another drink and wonder how this glass would sound as it breaks against your wall. the moment it leaves your hand you regret it. what a mess. all liquor and love sick and four a.m. the rorschach stains on this carpet from back when you were practicing for ava or evelyn or aiden. she picked the names. all the carpet cleaner in the world won't erase the memory. you wouldn't try even if it would. the empty chair theory doesn't soothe this broken heart of yours. nothing does. you pull another glass from the cupboard and see her lipstick stain on the edge. you imagine being small enough to jump from the top and landing hard enough to **** yourself but softly enough to not leave a stain. they would look at you and say, "I think this one was an accident." and they are wrong.