my brain is screaming at me to run,
to get the fuck out,
telling my heart to race,
making my insides feel like
some kind of shit soup
but i can’t allow myself
to fall into that trap.
i have things to do
i have people who depend on me
to keep my shit together.
so i will smile appropriately,
i will write shitty poems
and eat m and-fucking m’s
and keep my shit together.
fuck you, anxiety.
even the chaos doesn’t distract me enough,
a hundred thousand questions can’t stop me
from torturing myself.
i wanted you.
i wanted you in the way that an addict
wants that hit of whatever gets them
the heaven they think they want.
i wanted to bury myself inside of you,
burrow right into your soul.
i wanted to see what made you,
the good, the bad, the things you hide.
i guess,
in a way,
i did see all that shit.
the light, the dark, the depth,
just, that’s all i could get.
just a view in from the outside,
i hope you are well,
and i hope that you really are as beautiful
as i made you out to be,
inevitably, i’ll think of you,
this isn’t goodbye,
it’s not a see you later,
it’s a graveyard epitaph,
for a living ghost.
Just one more fuck up.
Tell me one more lie –
I’ll believe it.
You don’t even know.
You don’t even know.
I’ll fake it so good.
You won’t even know,
that I know,
that you’re lying.
Tell me you want me.
Tell me how beautiful I am
with these goddamn tears
dripping from my eyes.
Touch me like it’s the first time.
Touch me like you want me,
forever and fucking always.
For the love of God,
lie to me, please.
Hold me so tight,
that I’ll believe you won’t leave.
Lie to me so good.
Swear, I’ll believe it.
Take me.
Take all of me.
Take my things.
Just please, don’t leave.
Stay.
Please stay.
i think the thing
that is most impressive,
is that someone who knew me
for only four hours,
knew me better than you
and you had six years
of mornings and nights.
maybe he’s just another
goodbye to make me cry,
but i’ll be damned
if he didn’t kiss me
like he meant it.
and maybe he was lying,
just to get me naked,
but he’d already stripped me
with my clothes on.
funny how words can
take the clothes off your soul.
he didn’t even know
how he was holding me together,
like you never fucking did.
just met, yet,
he told me i was funny.
and fucking adorable.
he wanted to touch me.
how fucking cool is that?
he.
wanted.
to.
touch.
me.
he knew i wanted him to kiss me,
i didn’t have to fucking beg.
or ask.
or cry for it.
he said he saw it in my face,
wonder then –
how many times did you see that look
and just turn the fuck away?
everytime i find myself missing you,
and hurting and aching,
i just remind myself of that last time,
standing in the fucking driveway,
begging you to fucking kiss me.
and you didn’t.
that was the last time you didn’t,
but it wasn’t the first time.
so fuck you.
i hope he’s good guy,
but even if he turns out
to be a complete fucking dick,
he made me feel wanted.
and that’s all i wanted.
it’s all i’ve ever wanted.
conquering the world,
because that is what i do.
not to be brave
or courageous.
but to forget.
to prove i dont need you.
that i can do this,
alone.
on my own.
no matter how much it hurts.
i have not, in quite some time,
want to drag a blade across my skin
as much as tonight.
It is the third day of being twenty-seven,
and I thought by now this ache
would have been dulled, faded, gone even.
I hate this quiet.
I hate the way I need someone to fill this space,
that sits so empty beside me.
Mostly, mostly I’m exhausted,
so tired of holding myself together.
Juggling pieces so they don’t shatter,
overstretching, bending at odd angles,
just so I can show the world how strong I am.
Illusions only last so long,
just band-aids on a gaping wound.
i think about the throwback Thursdays
that will come, inevitably
how my heart will break again
the first time i see you
with a face that’s not mine,
arms wrapped around somebody,
who’s not me,
somebody you could love a little more
want more, need more.
