I wish I could leave you a voicemail
But you have me blocked
I wish I could send you a message
But again you have me blocked
I'd send you a letter
I'd send you a ******* carrier pigeon
Just to get a response
I miss your handwriting
Hell, I miss your hands
And the veins you had on your left arm
Seemingly protruding and beautiful
My friends make fun of your looks to make me laugh
... But to be honest, I'm still in love with how place your hands on the counter and lean in a little closer when you're talking
I remember the way your tongue touched the roof of your mouth
And the squareness of your teeth
And the way a lisp came out sometimes, but it was always so faint no one could really hear it, unless they listened close enough
These were the times when you couldn't even hear the leaves rustle.
You have a bad reputation
But hell, I was willing to love you through it
That poor girl
She knows what she's gotten herself into
But she's too in love to dig herself out
Yeah, try killing yourself
Run to him with a blood stained dress
Shout into the void
Scream "help me!! Help me, baby!"
But he'll stand there and laugh
Shoving his hands into his pocket
And then he turns on his heal and walks away as if you didn't just have a heart attack
As if this wasnt his fault
He's like a car crash
He's like being thrown out through a car window and flying until you hit the hard, cold earth
And you were flying
But now you are falling
And you're gonna hit the pavement
Sweetheart he's going to leave you
He's the drunk driver
He's the one who's afraid of being caught by the police
And that's just a metaphor for the girls hes ******
Darling you are more
You are more than a petty side dish
He has a whole feast, sweetheart
You aren't the main entre
Now someone's stabbed you with their fork of truth and it's not him
The truth hurts, doesn't it, baby?

I chiseled away at my marble,
chipping off the faults they proclaimed,
carving the weird, the unworthy,
leaving veins of 'truth'
Fingerprints linger in the dust on the floor,
where the best remnants lay forgotten,
the shoes that were too goody,
the hips that were too round,
the laugh that was too loud,
the silly khaki-less fantasies tie-dyed
and woven with moonbeams.
I stood in galleries,
tying my approval to wanted 'yays'
but no one recognized the girl
who was still holding the hammer.
I sat beside her,
my hand upon the chasm,
where a heart should've burgeoned,
and felt only stone,
pining for her name within the dolomite.
The crows brought me a mirror,
reflecting the squareness I had tried to shape
from my hexagonal being,
edges missing, sanded down
to match the softness of the world.
'rebuild' they cawed
recementing, unhallowing,
letting the fractures bloom moss,
and the rough edges catch the light,
we are not meant to echo.
Let the gallery grow wild,
breaking through the sedimentary,
sparkling eternal agate
from the stardust of which we are made.