Last December, I decided that either true love existed
somewhere out of my reach, or it didn't exist at all.
In the mirror, my reddened eyes leered back at me,
piercing and livid, searching for the problem or the answer.

Ten minutes later, I was cured by cold pizza
and a hot shower, which made me wonder
if emotions were even real, or if I was always
just some version of hungry or tired.

Some sadistic part of me considered it a victory
to have had my heart broken, because at least that meant
I could feel something. It sounds crazy, but that's love,
and that's losing. It'll make you mad,
and it'll make you angry, too.

Time has a funny way of making a fool of me.
I couldn't tell you if there's a meaning to everything,
or if we're all just trying to make sense of what hurts us,
but I like to say I learned a lot in the six months
of never again:

que será, será, and c'est la vie; the future will surprise you
no matter how much you overthink; true love probably exists,
you just need a nap; and sometimes,
you don't realize what you almost had
until you're glad you didn't get it.

I know they love each other -
I can hear it
from the room across; those

muffled, rambling
conversations -
She takes the time
to talk
and he
takes the time to listen - laughter.

I'm sure they smiled, together -

I know they love each other, because
I can hear it, from here.

Hold me as a doll in your arms because
You always cared for me
Like a father would
Like fathers should

Tell me how you understand
And crinkle your eyes,
Smile at me like I'm
Your baby

they don't look like me.
those girls
with their *******
and baby teeth.

pink daisy chains,
sweet blubbering.
joyful hearts swollen,
i can feel them.

i smell a childhood memory,
she loves mornings.
the one in red
kisses her puppy,
sleeps in braided hair.

under your gaze,
they'll be paper forever.
and me?
am i tree bark to you?
do i still exist
while i'm gone?

peekaboo.

baby i've called you,
thus baby you've become.
my ******* are sore,
i've run dry of milk.

photographs don't bleed.
**** on something else for dinner.
but i insist,
keep tripping over
that tail of yours.
i find it rather funny.

I don't want to be backup
I am not a late night snack
Something you nibble on to soothe yourself when the walls collapse

I don't want to be a pipe dream
Just a childish fantasy
Something you keep in your back pocket, that's already history

I don't want to be either of those things
Yet I am both, my dear
Milk and cookies after midnight
and crumbs that magically disappear

Why am I always the second option?
But not the first?

I want to be loved.
I want to give love.

But instead,
I find hurt.
So I give hurt.

Sometimes the cost is too high
The hurt is too much to bare
And the unknown is unknowable fear.
When choices have cemented in stone
There's no way out but under.