Somewhere, deep in my heart,
I hope you'll accidentally discover my poems,
read them,
and know -
they're all for you.

Therapy isn't enough.
I need you to know -
he sang me YOUR song
after the first time he ****** me.
It should've been you.

I wish you'd visit me in my dreams,
but why would you?
You never wanted to see me in real life.

Here I am,
making a fool of myself,
just to see you smile.

I know I wouldn't be able to make you happy,
and that's okay.
But does she make you happy?
I just want you to be happy.

My arm bears scars
from the day you broke my heart,
but I didn't want to remember you by that,
so I got a flower tattooed over them instead.

You've said it before,
you don't like what you see
in the reflection of my eyes.
Maybe if I'd gauged them out,
you wouldn't be afraid to look inside.

When I looked into your eyes,
I didn't see myself,
I saw flowers.
And then you looked into mine
and saw only flaws.

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

You never cared,
never tried,
you left me drowning
every time I cried.
Maybe, my tears
were all you could get,
the only way for you
to make me wet.

I wanted you to take me out on a date,
but you said you're too busy,
romanticizing your sadness.
I guess you need that sorrow
to write your music,
just like I needed my heart broken
by you
to write my poetry.

You say you've moved on,
but she has my face,
my hair,
and my snorty laughter.

When I first saw her,
just for a moment,
I thought that she was my long lost twin
and that you found her
just to bring her back to me.

I slip through strangers,
to reach the front row.
On my tiptoes,
I strain to see you,
to catch a glimpse.
I raise my hand,
hoping you'll see me.
"I'm here," I call.
But you don't care,
and I am lost in the crowd.

I was only fourteen,
and you were the first boy
to ever compliment me.
Then I blinked,
and suddenly, I was twenty-four,
and you were the last man
to break my heart.

Your mistreatment taught me
how I deserve to be treated -
at least better
than you ever did.

I should have
punched you
the first time I saw you.
A broken hand
would have been better
than a broken heart.

I wanted you to care for me.
Instead, your touch
gave me contact dermatitis.

I know I lack a sense of humor.
The only time I ever made someone laugh
was when you treated me
like a joke.

You told me
my sweater was ugly
but it's you
who's ugly
on the inside.

Waking up is
always so hard,
just like falling asleep.
But I sleep with sleeping pills,
and I wonder,
why aren't there
waking pills?