all the past relationships,
loves,
the past flings,
and one night stands...
is it possible to apologize
to every single one
and explain that your past self
had no idea what she was doing
and if she could go back
she would have done everything
so much differently?
she wouldn't have hurt you,
cheated,
lied,
drank so much,
used you,
loved so hard
with nothing in return...
or do we just accept everything
we have done to ourselves
and to the strangers we once loved
and try to be better?

we are in the purgatory
of being in love
and being nothing more
than mere friends.

purgatory is the same
as hell for me.  
but at least then, i'm somewhere.

i've said it once
and ill say it again.

the only way to write perfectly
and in tone with your insides
is when you have a broken heart

or else words get too jumbled
your brain becomes calm
your stomach, resting.
your heart is full and taped together.

there's a difference and it shows
there''s nothing to write about
when you're happy
sane
not depressed
loved.

every now and then
a surge of uncertainty
plagues this racing mind
i have been hurt before
one too many times
am i going to fall in love
just to break my own heart
are you going to stay
even if i try to ruin this?

i think of all the
conversations we could have.
all the conversation i want to have
but silence floods my insides.
i like not knowing.
i like making up stories
in my head.
you're more interesting that way.

you're alone with your thoughts
in the middle of the night
while the whole city sleeps
everything feels strange;
missing.
lonely.

i hope you can take it back
that thing you said last Thursday
when we were driving in your car
with the windows down
and the sunset glaring

i wont forgive you
even if your knees get ******
we've talked for days
but i cant even look at you in the eyes
you're never going to be the person
that i once knew

if we rewind
to the moment where i first touched your hand
id rememebr how it felt
when i thought you were the one
that walked into my life for a reason

you left your soul
for us to find
you left your footprints
for us to follow
you left your love
for us to feel
we will never be the same
without you.

we write about the hurt,
the pain,
and the aches.
we never seem to write about
the thrills,
the excitement,
and the laughter.
it's like our life isn't valid
when we are happy
or content.
we don't write about
the mundane.
people don't care about
what gives us joy,
they only care about
the fears
and the traumas.
is that what creates a life,
a personality,
a human being?

you looked at her
walking down the aisle
tears built up
around your eyes
a smile so big
your teeth were showing
she looked into your eyes
tears in hers too
she walked slowly
with poise
with contentment
you were it
the start of a life
shes always wanted
its perfect
youre perfect

like bell hooks once said,
"you don't fall in love, you simply decide to love."
but how soon are you allowed to decide?

if the timer runs out and no one says it,
what happens next?

is it a race to decide to love the person
you spend almost every second thinking about?

is there a right time to say it?
a specific number of days or months
and if you say it before, are you banished to the
'too soon freak out zone'?

as you sit and stare at the wall
thinking about your past
and the people you have let down,
you stand out the most.
you've stared at empty eyes for too long.
you've cried a thousand too many times.
you've eaten too many heartbreak cakes.
you never really found a footing
to propel yourself forward to land a career
or to create a white picket fence family.
but you found the bottom of bottles
and other people's beds.
you've experienced the trauma that
your mother won't discuss with you and
that your dad treats you differently for.

as you finally sit alone
in a place you call your home
decorated with vintage,
you begin to feel like life
has been waiting for you to accept these things
and allow them to shape who you are
meant to be.

i grab my glasses
off of the bed side table,
i look at the keyboard
and place my fingers
on the keys that
spell out your name.
i dont want to write about
you anymore,
i want to write about the things
that make me happy.

you would stare at me
and never look away
like i do at him now
and your hands shake
eyes glazed over
similar to an exorcism
and your soft hands
and your black shadow
and your smell
and your mysterious face
and i'm not yours
anymore
and you're not yourself
anymore
you're not my Charles Bukowski
anymore
you're like a figment of my imagination
that's become lost in reality
I might as well forget

you would stare at me
and never look away
like i do at him now
and your hands shake
eyes glazed over
similar to an exorcism
and your soft hands
and your black shadow
and your smell
and your mysterious face
and i'm not yours
anymore
and you're not yourself
anymore
you're not my Charles Bukowski
anymore
you're like a figment of my imagination
that's become lost in reality
I might as well forget