i will write poetry for myself
admiring all the imperfections
just like people do with art

when i write about other people
frantically scribbling words on a page
to express love
or hate
or something at all

why can't i write the same way for myself
the intense verses and elaborate wording
all used to express a feeling that no combination of words will
ever explain

perhaps if i stare in the mirror long enough
my body will begin to feel like my own,
my face won't distort to a disfigured mess
i'll learn to love my long golden hair
my eyes that look like the earth from outer space
the soft jawline i've always hated
asymmetry embodied

maybe then i'll realize that even scribbles are beautiful too.

when i wrote about you
i wrote in floods of passion
tears dripping and smearing the ink on my pages
ruining the art i made all about you
just like you ruined me

i saw you in my dreams again
i saw your instagram with yellowed film pictures
pictures of you and your family and your dog
and pictures of me
of us
together

i thought i was over you

i've heard people say
"the one thing worse than sadness is indifference"

the people who say that
haven't spent the late nights
curled up sobbing on the bathroom floor
shuddering with each breath,
quietly screaming for strength
"oh god let me make it through tonight"

people who say that haven't played russian roulette
with themselves
gambling their lives for pieces of hope that may never show

people who say
that indifference is worse than sadness
couldn't be more wrong
i'd rather feel nothing than the weight of what i can't control crushing the life out of me

sometimes when people hold me
i don't think they realize
how many broken pieces they're holding together
even just for a moment
before they let go and i fall apart all over again

i wouldn't say that i miss you
but sometimes
when a small memory of you and i plays in my mind
i notice

maybe the colors were always a little brighter with you around