I forgot ****** healing.
I'm too scared to feel anything when you're done.
It's not like you stroke my hair,
kiss my skin and treasure me.
I'm looking for my spectacles,
emptying out your receptacle.
But there's value in the hand that flushes
down your forgotten ****.

I read my poems over and over,
become convinced that my heart is bipolar.
Find me laid out on the four corners
my limbs in each state-
picking a new place
to escape you and my fate.
But if you were to go- you'd probably
get a phone call from New York
saying you just missed the funeral.

Energy to try is depleted.
I wonder if you'd even see this.
Not that I have problem telling you
how I feel-
but if you were wondering what it's like
to feel like I do...
who am I kidding?
You'll never even look at this.
You're not a stranger, and I almost wish you were-
so the fact that you don't check this regularly
didn't make me feel so insignificant.
And if you did check,
you'd see I'm making you famous
but you never needed help,
so I guess it doesn't matter.
No wonder you never look.

My body won't allow me to feel for you anymore.
Though the warmth of your blanket is comforting-
it's not enough when the cavity in my chest
is empty.
When we're not together it's filled with promise,
and while it's easy to see that I miss you,
I don't miss the absence of my heart
and its presence in your palm.
I loved you too much and it's a problem- I know.
Because it isn't a love you can reciprocate.
So with each day apart, I feel the blood in my veins,
and I try to keep breathing for myself.
And to those grieving with a similar fate,
I know you've heard it before- it's not easy but in time
I'm trying to grow out as far as you did and then some,
for good measure.
I used to feel safe in your arms,
but I feel the cold weather- more when we're together
than when we're apart.
And all of my mittens are worn and my fingers
can only clutch my heart for warmth-
so no I can't leave it at your house anymore
it's no longer the furnace you leave in the corner
while you sit in your blizzard, stoic, unapproachable.
It's not to keep someone new alive.
But I've got this numb skin that needs protection
from the storms you survive.

Listening to Mr. Noah,
you were like a child at play-time.
Lost in euphoria you never needed to explain.
I saw a lady today,
and for the first time in a long time,
I felt a love that wasn't ****** nor familial,
I learned a bit of friendship,
and was reminded of how much giving meant
when there was no obligation.
It's easy to not to worry when you don't feel
the need to understand.
Listening carefully to his voice exclaiming,
against funny beautiful instruments,
he is like a child at play-time,
worry-free, until the music stops.
Calmness that can be sadness when it ends.
When will you return to the cottage in my heart,
little child?
You play with what you mean to love,
feel sad when it's broken from a lack of care.
But you don't need to understand,
so you smile when the music starts up again.
You were like a little child.

Paused a netflix movie just to write this,
my eyes are heavy in both sleep and solemnity,
I miss you.
It might seem like I rather do other things,
but that's because I'm scared about when we're alone.
I don't want to disrupt whatever high you've got going.
So I'll write to you-
maybe you'll see this, maybe you'll never look back.
And that is all just okay.
I remember there was a time I just loved you-
fearlessly.
It didn't matter that you didn't trust me
because I was certain one day, all of that will come.
That as long as I loved you unconditionally-
I could show you.
I had so much passion- so much drive,
I was thriving in those moments.
I believed in something that might not ever work
for the sake of belief
I was so deep in love.
It was dream-like.
Somewhere along the line this proof of promise-
converted into fear of loss,
and for some reason, I never was able to make you see.
I don't know maybe you've lost the details in your dark shades.
And while I am dying for that moment you let down
your 200 ft wall,
I'm now aware it might not come.
I'm okay with this.
Because my love for you
is not about what you give to me.
It's about how much I enjoy reminding you
how incredible you really are.
You always seems to forget that- and I don't mind being the one
to show it every single day.
I've been at the end of such a love-
and it's hard to reciprocate unless you really feel it.
So I get it.
It's cool.
I'll just keep loving you.
Because with every day I try to show you-
I show myself how much love I can have,
and despite what you might think,
I'm spectacular.
And I'd love me if I loved me as I much as I loved you.
Admitting this is the first step, I believe,
to letting go
acceptance
that maybe I'm not meant to be loved by you.
But I'll be passionate, still.
I'll be thriving, still.
And I'm still so very deep in love.

I realize I read many,
but few speak to me.