The pierce on his left earlobe wasn't something that anyone would just notice. After all it was purposely concealed by his brown locks. She asked him why he had it.

"It was a thing of the past." he said.

"Does it still hurts?"

"The bleeding had stopped. The wound was long gone. It took some time to heal. Still, there was a gaping hole that's left."

Somehow she knew that it wasn't just the piercing he was talking about.

i keep telling myself i'm moving on
that i don't love you any more
but these paper boats keep drifting to you
and i know that i'm too far in
to swim back to shore.
my eyes keep drooping closed but my hands won't stop moving, i need to keep writing,
can't get enough of you, i told you how much i loved you and you let me go

The truth is time does not heal ****.
Time does not delete the song off my playlist that reminds me of you.
Time does not take away the memories of our first kiss.
Time does not erase the imprints of your hands on me.
The only thing time does is remind me that we had ours and now it is over.
But that is ok. It is ok that we cease to exist.
It is ok that the songs plays and I still think of you.
It is ok that I hold onto the moments we cherished together.
It is ok that I feel your grip on me even though you are so far.
Time does not heal ****. Acceptance does.

Seriously??
You're seriously bringing that up now??
After everything you've put us through,
You're going to hold this over my head
Right now??
I can't believe this.
I knew you were childish
But this is reaching new lows
Even for you.
I mean,
Who brings up a mistake I made
Ten years ago when I was legitimately a kid.
I mean,
Who doesn't forgive a child
For not knowing any better
And messing up huge that one time.
But you never were one who fought fair.
You used every ***** trick not in the book
And then some.
You
Lied,  
Manipulated,
Schemed,
Guilted,
Violated,
Demanded,
Demeaned,
Degraded,
Beat,
Beat,
Beat,
Me into the ground
Until I believed that
I was shorter than Thumbelina,
And responsible for all the chaos in your life.
Blinded by childish hero worship,
I trusted you when you told me
I was the reason things weren't working out.
But the child is not responsible
For the failed marriage of her parents.
The child is not responsible
For her parents' lack of communication.
The child is not responsible.
But you're still living like I am.
So I'm not gonna take this anymore.
I'm not gonna sit here, stand here, stay here,
And listen to your convoluted messed up reality.
I've got my own life to live.
My own memories to make.
My own mistakes to learn from.
My own family to find and have and raise.
And I sure as hell don't need
Someone like you coming back in
And telling me I'm less than I really am,
Cause the truth is, Mom,
I'm a lot more than you'll ever be.

i don’t want to feel
like poetry
is a chore, like i’m
choosing to pour my thoughts
out of my head
instead of doing it
because i can’t
stop it from spilling.

can a person really
write a poem about
indifference? can i write
about how i’m sad
at my apathy?

i guess i’d give the gift away
for a life
of active living.

i think moving on
of any sort
means adding
potential moments, lost,
to the list of things you grieve
just every once
in a quiet while.