My keyboard remembers your name better than I remember the pain
I lie awake at night fearing no one will ever know my veins
There’s still a part of me that’s disappointed you never changed
And I keep telling myself, in another life..?
Maybe that time, I’ll come out with the right skin type
But this was it, there is no another universe
No matter how much I try to kid myself
This is all we had, all I could give you
And it wasn’t enough
I didn’t want to beg, but I did
I know you felt it, I came to my knees,
Longing, aching
Please, please, love my ***** skin.

Once dubbed 'number two,' a label, a haunting echo, a constant reminder,
From a third year’s Scrabble match that left me second best, the genesis of a nickname I hated.

The bitter taste of second place, a memory stark,
A reminder of striving, of yearning, yet falling short.
Averse to the shadow of 'not quite,' 'almost there, but...'

It's funny how being second haunted me,
Always striving to escape my past and secrets.
I've hidden the truth about my family,
A split that's more than what the world knows, I’ve always been ‘the secret child’
A narrative whispered, diluted, for ears unacquainted.
Universe never seize to mock me with it.

Contemplating the roads I could have paved better,
Guarding what was precious, fortifying with fervor,
I’m here , pondering the 'what ifs' and 'maybes,'
A lament for the present, with heavy eyes and teary-eyes. Regrets linger for not trying harder.

Three years invested, hopes were shattered,
I don't blame you for trying to rebuild, giving it another try.
Instead, I blame fate, the ‘Universe’ A relentless orchestrator, marking me perennially 'two,'
Even when love briefly eased the burden.

Now, in the quiet of night, in sorrow's embrace I write,
Words once sweet now tinged with pain,.
I've been through a rollercoaster of emotions,

For days now, you’ve witnessed my descent and ascent, I blamed you, I tried being strong, became a wreck, got drunk to prove a point, isolated , sought validation from internet, found myself overwhelmed by the attention and tried to convince everyone ‘I’m fine’,  I felt numb.
Right now I’m just a shattered soul seeking solace in poetry’s embrace.
Every emotion, a verse, every thought, a line inscribed, writing seems to be my only solace.

To the boy I loved and wanted to give it all to, I’m thinking of you and I just want you to always be happy, being second doesn’t mean I can’t still be your number one cheerleader.
We always thought alike and wanted the same things; I do not wish to hate you as you don’t want it too.
I want to keep you as much as you want to do with me ,
Let's move past this, erase the awkwardness,
Let not animosity tarnish what affection once graced,
I hope we can salvage our friendship soon.

Lately, I feel
Out of it these
Days

Life seems to
Drag me down
And I know

In the end,
I’ll be fine.

I remember those
Winter days,

Nearly ten years ago,
When we met in a haze.

Lust turned to love,
And over the years,
we burned out,

Just like the flickering of
The flames in a silent film,

Never making a sound.

Now I live with
The memories,
That plague my mind,

Playing track-by-track,
Just like a CD, singing

The good and the bad times.

I look around
The corner

Between St. Louis
And the town that
I live in,

Remembering how I
Used to drive past

The city lights,
Months after the crash.

I remember how it
Haunted me,
Every single time.

Now I’m stuck
In an endless cycle,
Far from fine.

It seems life
Likes to drag
me down,

Just like the
Memories that plague
My mind.

I’m doing everything
I can to be more than
Fine.

turns out memories
aren't just silly dreams.

feels like yesterday,
before we went our
separate ways,

regrets,
words i thought
i'd never say

broken at every turn,
and lost along the way.

then just like the time
slips idly by,

i watched you
slip away, memories
of yesterday, fading into
the sun.

Just like photographs,
still frames in my head,
it's hard to move forward
when i have so much to say.

but at least i can say,
i've had a good run
instead.

turns out memories
aren't just silly dreams

feels like yesterday,
before we went our
separate ways

and i know
mistakes were made
along the way.

but in order
to move forward in
life,

i know there's
hurt somewhere between
yesterday and today.

it's not over at 30,
and i know my time
isn't done.

love comes and goes,
but i don't want to be
the one who got away

when i think
i may have finally
found the one.

turns out memories,
aren't just silly dreams

and i know we've
gone our separate ways

but just like how time
moves forward, i know

that new memories
can be made
along the way.

Heartstrings frayed and  
weathered.

Scarred, and afraid
to weather the storms.

But to heal,  
you know you’ve got to swim
to better days ahead.

All you can do
is all you can,

A push comes to
shove,  

and within time,
the feeling of
love

saves you from  
being buried within.

The odd thing
About the constant moving
Of a life grown up on the road

Is the people you meet
Know you will leave
And so you get their best

However brief

The caterpillar marches
Munching from leaf to leaf to leaf
He doesn’t know where he’s going
He doesn’t know where he’s been
He only knows the munching
The hunger in his gut
The fire in his belly
Antennae pointing up
Vigilant for predators
Water and leaves
He doesn’t know where he’s going
It matters not where he’s been

The caterpillar weaves
Instinctively without knowing
Why he must, but weaves he does
A cocoon for the growing
The caterpillar digests himself
Dissolving into soup
Becoming a pod of pain and tears
And caterpillar goop
Alone for weeks he suffers
Reconfiguring
His whole body becoming
A new kind of being

No idea what he’s becoming
No idea what’s in store
Suddenly caterpillar emerges
More beautiful than before
Stronger and more delicate
Lighter than the air
Ready for love and lofty height
A sight beautiful and rare
The butterfly does not look back
To the caterpillar he was
The butterfly flies forward
Embracing whatever comes

Regal, reserved;
Jaundiced youth.
Reasoning mad,
The mind of an absurd,
Without Camus, with no Kierkegaard.
Knowledge gleamed from living hard,
The blurred tatters of the patchwork memory,
Loose sense of self,
And fragmented morals.
Abuses have left their scars.
I know you hurt,
When you cut yourself.