Open wounds are bleeding cuts exposed to the sun
Caused by a knife or a scratch from a run
They are lines on the skin that fade after a while
At least that is what it is in people’s mind files

But sometimes blood is not the only thing that flows
Sometimes tears or numb expressions are the only thing that’s shown
Sometimes they are not simple lines that just fade away
For some they run deep, they are there to stay

Some wounds feel sharp like a knife on skin
But to some those wounds are short moments of relief, heaven
Compared to the wounds inside their head
Telling them that they are worthless, they are better off dead
If people look on the inside they will realize, they will find
Not all open wounds mark the body, they can also mark the mind

the last day of january
has always been so odd to me, darling
you left me there many days ago with a kiss,
and i've been figuring things out alone ever since
killing parts of myself, when i needed you the most

but look how i seized the days, look how i overcame it
i was merely sad and mopping around the city,
weeping over the trails you left on the streets we've walked on
and there were your eyes over the blue skies
asking everyone, was it ever my fault that we didn't work?

and this year, on the last day of january,
i got my new diamonds and rose gold
i merely checked on my work and to-do list
for the weekdays, i planned my february
you called me last saturday, you're drunk

i said i hope you're okay- and you thought i'd never reply
but i'm always weak for you, and it's january
so i check my phone, i hope you call me again to say hi
but i haven't heard from you in a day
i thought you were just drunk and lonely on saturday mornings
and you happened to remember that i've loved you ever since

and so i prowl back on my work, i am a busy young woman
my schedule: talking to teresa tomorrow,
talking to chris after the new year,
and talking to you no longer feels like talking to a person i love
you're more of a total stranger than the coco i know, than teresa, than chris
you just proved me again that you are never right for me, darling

i miss what i thought i had, i miss you the most of all
and it's very lonely to know
that i have been hurting myself than you ever did,
i hope you know this, but you're not capable of it,
my tiger knows no hurting

and i said wake up and get ready, it's the last day of january, darling
the professor is waiting for you at the door.
and i hope you're okay,
and i hope you're doing well in life

I never write love poems.
I think it's because I'm afraid to

open up & feel so vulnerable.
I'd have to look inside my heart,
to write something beautiful,
intimate,
and heartfelt.
I'd have to embrace the warmth,
and reflect on the lingering traces,
of the hand once in mine.
The love that once had it's time.

I'm afraid to confront those feelings.
I'm afraid to commit to love,
even if it's the everlasting type,
where two stars collide,
in the afterlife,
like they did milleniums before.

I've been hurt so deeply.
In ways I haven't felt before.
I'm not sure I can take it anymore.

But I dream of not being afraid of love.
One day,
I'll write love poems.
I'll find the person worth writing lines,
and stanzas about.
One that makes me forget we're in a drought.

I could have said a million things
in a million different ways.
All of which would have made you stay
a million more days.
But when the time came,
I thought about the future,
and I could never say with confidence
that my feelings would stay the same.
In the end, I couldn't let my fears
break my heart or yours.
Not when there's a million other doors
to open and explore.