I listened to Bukowski
Found what I love,
And let it **** me
But what do I do now?
I still seem to be breathing

please understand
that there are broken parts of me
that i can't fix
and the more i fumble with them
the more they crumble
and maybe that's my fault
because my hands shake
and i'm the farthest from gentle
i promise i'm working on my technique

i don't try to smother
it just comes naturally to me
like breathing
even if you say the right things
i'll still struggle
just like if you were to wrap your hands
around my throat
i would still try to breathe
you can talk about whatever you want
i'll hang my head and listen

you know that thing i do?
the one we talk about a lot?
i probably do it because i don't know what to say
or i don't want to say the wrong thing
or i think the conversation is over
but i should probably pay more attention to your words
instead of my own

i either talk too much
or not enough
and my poems are always too long
and never make much sense
just like my thoughts
and to me
it's like trying to untie a jumble of knots
by just cutting them
like the fates snipping threads

i apologize too much
i feel guilty for things i never did
or things that aren't a big deal
and i've tried
so very hard in this poem
to not apologize

i'm sorry

don't say you love me
it hurts when you lie

most everyone knows
the stories
that all these
Disney-fied
and
Pixar-ized
movies are based on
are much more gruesome
than their animated versions
if you don't already know
i dare you
to skim through the originals

many of these stories
that are animated
bring in a prince charming
(which is pretty much as annoying as the manic pixie dream girl trope)
they show you
that love is someone sweeping you
off of your feet
and carrying you forever
never letting you fall
now
brace yourself if you don't take the truth easily
this is a lie

love is boxed up all pretty
perfect pink wrapping paper
covered in little hearts
with a big sparkling
pink bow
but this is artificial

your prince
or princess
or whatever else
will drop you
probably face first
onto your glass shoe
but if they love you
they will always pick out the shards
and kiss every wound
and i like it more this way

i know that you've dropped me
kicked my ribs
knocked my head
against a brick wall
but i know you'll always
always
fix it the best you can
(and thank you
for not hating me
when i bang you up too)

fairy tales aren't real
but i know that you're my fairy boy
and as long as i believe
i know you'll stick around