When we met, I told you I was a vagrant drifter
that liked to stand on the edge of cliffs and play catch with the wind
until it heaves me over the tip, and you were the ice and the razor-
edged rocks I would land on. I know that you are not about poetry,
that you can't see the wreck between my ribs or the jagged
edges of my heart when I talk to you. I know that you don't
understand that my bones aren't made of barbed wire like yours are
and if you let me unfold in front of you, I am going to turn you into a bandage
I will use to heal up old wounds but make new ones. I have taught myself
to be reckless in an attempt to avoid feeling weak, but there
is glass where my limbs should be and they will break if you hold them
too tightly. I am not like most people.
When we met, I thought I could ***** you like an eggshell until
everything that you were too afraid to tell me would spill out like yolk,
but you cracked me instead, and now I am empty. The long silences
now fill up a room the way fire would inside a burning building,
and we are being suffocated by it, the torch that ignited it
still sitting in the place where I left it.

I didn’t want you to know,
but I took pictures of your room before I left
traced my jagged fingertips across the soft spots
the places where we touched
before there was a ghost in the bed

And I will remember your things scattered around
your messy sheets
us linked for the first time
our hands
our breathing
our nervous silence
our I’ve waited so long for this

And I will remember walking through town
the cold air
the heart-shaped leaves
the ghosts of the past
the churches
the grass

Sometimes we don’t speak
Your eyes are dark holes
and your mouth tries to form words
but it won’t

I don’t know what to say to you
except that your memory is a burning building
and we are constantly in flames

I don’t know what to say to you
except that you are in every single poem I write
and if I am being honest, you are the poem

I don’t know what to say to you
except to say everything,

that our time is always short
that I would rather burn than to spend
my entire life waiting

and you are sitting in front of me in your chair
sketching or writing
about different worlds that you create
but all I ever want to write about is ours

the one that we can’t have
the one that I always get a taste of
before it disappears in my mouth

You are my nostalgia,
I don’t think you know this

You are my downfall,
I don’t think you know this

You are the house that is always burning
the one that I am always consumed by
the one that I set on fire
years ago

You are the poem

and I don’t think you know this

but I will always be
in some kind of love
with you.

I've never been a fan of Rap
I'll go so far to say outright that I hate it
but I heard a song today
Rap as it may be
but it spoke to me.
it told me I can be not okay
it said what I've been thinking forever
(forever = since you left)
I never before knew
but now I do
I'm not alone
others are hurting too.
....
Ian, I think I'm finally healing.

Look into my eyes
And tell me what you see,
For words are nothing
But whispers in the wind.

Hold my hand
And hear me breathe,
For we are all dumb
In these moments that cease.

Let's not say another word
For we know what each of us want,
A last look at the things we hid.
A last say at the things we dreamed.

Let the sun set behind the trees
Silence and darkness engulf our dreams,
For there is always another day yet to come
(I mean that's what I thought)
Till then let's not say another word.

There’s space between us
And I can feel the ground snap
And splinter under our feet
The sound of it is deafening
Overwhelming me with each *****
I can see the memories
Slip silently through the cracks
One by one
Until they become obsolete
I can sense myself slipping
Scrambling for my own footing
Falling into the darkness
Of losing you
I can try and hold on
To the sharp edges of us
But my hands have grown ******
Torn by the words poured on the floor

If someone gives you their heart,
And you take it and love it,
They will love you forever,

If you break the heart given,
And you discard all it meant,
The heart will have trouble ever loving again,

For the given heart is not so easily gifted back.