i'd like to delete everything i've ever written
exchange it for something more poetic,
like a code he'll never figure out, but keeps trying to
like a picture of a lighter being held close to my wrist
but we all know i can't bring myself to let flame touch skin
like a wish
that i'd never learned to write or think or feel
in the first place

being 18 will not last
and i know relationships hardly do in this situation
(even if we want them to)
because we will "grow up" and leave
and everyone will tell us it'd be stupid to not head in opposite directions
but ******* i like heading into your arms
and
what is so wrong with that

Sunday morning.
Eating her food,
Drinking her coffee

While she sleeps in. I
Miss her through the
Door, but a

Lady is entitled to her peace.
Last night I
Think I fell

Ever so slightly deeper
In trouble when
She, with the assertiveness

Of a woman aware
Of her own
Loveability,

Ran her fingers through
My beard; taking all
The time she wanted

To whisper: *"I really,
Really like
You."

Did you think of me when you said you loved her?
Because I was the first person you ever said that about
and you were drunk as **** but you meant it,
you say you still do.
You say you still love me
but you don't want to anymore because
she's here now,
but if all you needed was someone to
be here
then I don't ******* understand
why I wasn't enough.
I don't ******* understand how you can say
you've loved me so extensively
and then love her more so quickly.
If loving her means letting me go
then what the **** did loving me mean?
You
are broken bottles
and I had started seeing my reflection in the shards of glass
and I wonder if she's ever seen me.
I wonder if she's seen the scars on your knuckles
from broken mirrors,
wonder if you would tell her
that I was the anger that put them there,
that I was the one who wrapped gauze around the wounds.
Have you ever cried over me?
Have you cried over me
like I have over you?
Has your chest been hollow
like mine has?
Have you hated yourself
like I do?
Have you felt guilt?
Your pain
is the pulsing of my heart,
I can only feel it
when I think about it
or when life is still for a moment
but it is always there
and I know this,
and it kills me.
You know nothing of
the aching you have caused me
because I keep it buried
in the bottom of my heart
along with the nights you fell asleep holding me.
Does it feel the same when you hold her?
Do you feel safe with her body pressed against yours?
Is she home yet
or are you still settling in?
Maybe if you give her that bracelet of mine
that you used to wear
she will seem more familiar.
I wonder if you realize she looks like me
or if that's something you did subconsciously.
Do you ever mistake her eyes for mine?
Do you ever think about my hands when you're holding hers?
Do you remember what my hands feel like?
Did you think of me when you said you loved her?

Live like you
Do when you

Have little even
When you

Don't and you
Never will

I am homesick
For a place
I have not yet found.

time is weird because i can't remember what it looked like to look at the first boy i kissed
time is weird because i can't remember feeling his arms
time is weird because it doesn't matter now