I read in a poem that there is no sound more sexual than the clink of a belt being undone but you only wear worn out t-shirts and a frown on your face. I think of the sound of tires driving slowly over the asphalt and how I could get turned on easier by a look than a touch. Your bed and you both taste like sweat but I am not going to complain because I'd rather be overheating than alone. I consider switching on your swamp cooler but it's loud and I want to be able to hear your moans in order to remind myself that you want me too. Do you?
2. I was doing my poetry homework when I had to stop in order to write poetry.
3. I dont know if I can handle the fact that you have made playlists for other people and that is so 2018 of me. Did you make that playlist for her?
4. I'm not sure why the city feels different when you're not in it but it probably has something to do with the rope I've tied to your ankle that is tugging at my heart so hard I'm about to fall over. Its like I'm cutting the rope with a very dull knife. Piece by piece it's disappearing, string by string it's breaking off, I'm watching as it shreds, I promise it is, it's just taking time and effort. I'm sorry I did that to you, I didn't mean to. I'm sawing as hard as I can.
5. If panic attacks actually helped anything I wouldn't mind the hyperventilating but instead I still feel like a sink has sunk inside my chest even after I've calmed down. Wouldn't it be nice if you could cry it, release it, scream to the skies and then be okay afterwards? I'm not sure who made me believe the symptoms of my mental illness should be like a shower; I don't feel cleansed. I don't feel new. I only feel raw, exhausted. It feels more like that same dull knife is tearing me open each skin layer at a time until I figure out how to grab the hand that holds it or I'm left open on the table, whichever comes first.
6. I'm writing in order to breathe. If I can't get oxygen to my brain my fingers won't be able to move. I know this isn't normal. I know that's why I need this. I know I have to stop needing you.
7. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.
8. I hear a baby crying outside of your window and I realize I need to get up to go home and get my work clothes. I find these simple things excruciating. Writing to you is a diary. I never should have learned to open my mouth and speak.
9. I started this poem four months ago and titled it a seven day long poem but I guess now it’s more than that. The first 8 were from then and now 9 is from now. You always made me feel the things I’m currently feeling. I wish I didn’t love you like I do. I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.
Here we are again.