oh, what bliss it must be
to find regretless intimacy

I think that love is real,
But it isn't for everybody.
Everyone I’ve loved has left
Or grown to hate me.

He made me believe in him,
Believe that he wasn't like my
Father or my Mother.
He made me believe that I would be loved.

I was so stupid
To think that he wouldn't find
Her more interesting, more beautiful
With her too-bleached hair and
Full lips she draws on each day.

She sings and dances and acts
While I read and write.
She goes to his football games
While I stay home and study.
She goes on vacations with him
While I go to college fairs.

I know I can't compare,
But I thought he cared.

he drowned in the last bits of the rain
as the sun washed the greyness
from our skin and highlighted his crimson
against the ever lengthening sky

it's strange to write about myself as an entity
i have always thought of myself in terms of other people
the gap between them
a body of negative space.