my heart has been shattered and i am out of eloquent ways of portraying the pain that leaves me saying , in the loudest silent scream, “  how could you be so ******* careless with my heart?!??” because it’s everything. i gave you my whole heart and you just smashed it
into
an infinite
number
of
pieces
now i am freefalling
b
  r
    o
       k
          e
             n

Is there anything in the world
sadder than unrequited love?
I’m not talking about romance;
that’s a completely different story.

But I mean loving someone
so deeply only to find
they barely think of you.

Missing someone so much
and crying yourself to sleep
only to find they get annoyed
when you reach out to them.

Craving their love and attention
only to find they think you’re needy.

This. This feeling. This is what I believe
is the equivalent to swallowing sand
every time you talk to that one person.

Breaking apart inside and drowning
as you slowly realize you are nothing.
Nothing special to the one you hold dear.
That is what I consider unrequited love.

My mother's’ an angel,
God sent her to give light,
to fuel a fire in our hearts,
and shine down like stars on gloomy nights.

In her soul flowers bloom,
red roses intertwine in her curls,
while beauty grows in her healing soul,
faster than I’ve ever seen before.

One day I hope to glow like her,
and open the doors she’s been pulling at for years,
clear up the sky,
so the sun paves her way,
no warrior deserves rain during her glory days.

It's mean
They are both
Willing to fight for
What they have
For each other.

No, one cannot separate
Them.
All they have is each other.

And so I drank her.
A high ball glass of seduction
Shaken with whiskey lips
Wide hips
Sugar rim
Sin and forgiveness.
I drank her blind
And ordered another.

Bottles of alcohol squat on the counter, and cigarette butts
like yellow dead June bugs on the floor.
Bottles of shimmering reasons to not care about a hangover,
to leave prom early and rejoice in your parent’s absence.
Glistening necks, elegant glass nubs with no cap
tipped up into mouths screaming proud and hoarse,
We are STUPID! And CONTAGIOUS!
our ***** voices breaking under the radio sound
to a loud song whose generation no longer cares.
But we do, dumb boys and girls in a truck, rolling around town
like Haylee’s bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk—
aimless, optimistic, and looking for reasons, so
buy a pack at the Chevron and let’s go smoke!
That’s enough, after all, isn’t it?
Reason enough to crack the windows, find a Carlyss backroad,
waste away midnight and half a tank of gas.
Still, as I drive on, a 90s rock station stimulating rotation of the spliff,
that smell puts my mind out of guitar solos and into placid hallways,
Smells Like a night in my dad’s apartment,
the stubbly couch with the nicotine blanket,
the Marlboro tone in the air, concrete crumbs and a lighter’s grating chrrt.
Divorce sounds like alcohol—
a word that burns, something sterilizing and for adults only.
But I don’t care, it’s my turn on the spliff,
and the backseat of my truck sounds more Alive
than the old horror movie rentals he would put on.
And why should I worry about what sobriety means
when we’ve been planning this night for months now?
All stocked up on Bacardi and Smirnoff Ice, Captain Morgan’s, Svedka, Mike’s Hard,
Swisher Sweets wrapped up in the **** bag—
We shoot our ***, soldiers eager to start the war,
that war against a domestic unknown enemy,
an enemy dangerous and subversive, like sober-minded aspirations.
And while Zack rolls the blunt, while Jack finds his Camel pack,
while you ask for a hit of Haylee’s cigarette,
I fill a glass with water, my intention to hydrate
exactly as genuine as my intention to forget about it.