~~
im thinking too much
again.
why won't you say anything?
all i said was --
"i miss you"
is that too much?
am i too much?
am i not enough?
should i love you?
it's only been a week..
i can make myself --
if it makes you happy.
am i texting too often?
did i send the wrong emojis?
was i not funny enough today?
not talkative enough?

...

****.
im thinking too much..
again.

If I rewrite the narrative,
make you say things you’d never-
it hurts a little bit less.

If I picture you sending my screenshots,
laughing with your friends
about how I’m pathetic,
it hurts a little bit less.

If I melt the candy coating off your words
and read them as they are,
my chest doesn’t feel as hollow.
The pages rinse free of hope,
replaced with finality.

If I say it was just a game,
and now I have to log out-
close the window, shut it down,
you’ll never log back in.

My lungs can fill with air again,
My eyes remain dry.
This grief stops sitting on me,
I can stop wondering why.

You’ll always be
my favorite book I picked up-
but maybe you were one
I was never meant to read.

What would you have to lose
If you chose to run away?
Cause that's what I've been wondering
When my nightmares keep me awake.

Would your thoughts race for hours
With the memories of our secret place,
If you could forsee my disappearance
If you knew that we would change?

Perhaps this feeling is not justified
Because I'm over-analyzing things,
When I'm aiming for an equilibrium
In the friendships that I make.

Cause when I consider endless factors
That I cannot control and have to face,
I realize perfection is not possible
For a human to attain.

i don’t just crave validation,
i need it.
i need it like some people need a drink in their hands,
i need it like it’s the cigarette between my lips.

it’s the air in my lungs,
my food and my drink.
it’s not just music to my ears—
it’s the only sound i hear.

i know i’m not your favorite,
not really.
but you told me i was,
three months ago.
and i wrote that in my journal.
i etched that in my heart.

i hold up my poems,
these nonsense words i call art,
and i need a compliment,
i need a hug.
so that i know i’m not just some girl,
the girl you whisper about when she’s not there.
so that i know
there’s a reason i give and give.

so that i know i’m someone’s favorite.

I’m barely a poet,
yet you’re still my muse.
I say it doesn’t hurt-
that my purpose is views.
Steps I take forward
toward moving along
make you more distant,
and that feels ******* wrong.

I know that you know and
it could never be the same.
I just have to figure out
how to remove ache from your name.
The letters, they hurt
when they sit side by side-
and to hear them out loud?
A blast to my mind.

Because I like to spiral,
to wonder and dream.
I erased our messages-
yet here you come on my screen.
You can’t give me an inch-
I will dream a whole mile.
I’ve been that way always,
since I was a child:
hoping and loving
and dreaming for better.
I hate accepting reality-
and this ****** weather.

I can romanticize rain
and thunder and storms,
pretend they can heal me,
make me accept new norms.
But I miss my lover,
so quiet, so sweet,
and leaving that love
drowning feels like defeat.

I beg for understanding
   But I can't even figure out myself

I crave recognition
   But do nothing worthy

I'm desperate to be seen
        But my own vision is clouded