we were speeding down the highway
and there’s gasoline seeping out of my heart
and being set on fire
by all the boys i’ve loved before.

ignite me i’d beg
but once they were done
they never bothered to put the fire out.

the side of my car is crushed
but my heart is still on fire,
begging for someone to smother the flames.

to pay for the damage.
the therapy.
the removal of the emptiness in my heart.
to pay for a touch, a quick one that still lingers
and one i can still yearn for.

i’d crawl for the fire extinguisher
while breakup songs screams lyrics
in the back of my mind
and then i'd notice that my hands are slippery
but i’m not sure if the color is black or red
but i know it’s from you.

i am fueled on anger and love
while you drive away in your father’s truck
the one we used to sit and daydream
and tell secrets that rolled off of our tongues
like the way your tires are rolling away from the crime scene.

fast, effortless, and natural.

this was supposed to happen you’d say soothing me
and my burning heart and bloodshot eyes.
not even the airbags hit harder than those five words you swore to me.

you’re driving away as the extinguisher stumbles
out of my oiled-covered hands
while the memories of us replay in my mind
and i notice how the skid marks on the street
paint a messy picture of us.

you drove away fast, effortlessly, and naturally.

this was supposed to happen.
this was supposed to happen.
this was supposed to happen.

i can’t tell if my heart is black or red or blue
but i know it’s from you.

smoke lingered throughout the air
illuminating my father’s face
and shadowing my mother’s
the bud of the cigarette catching fire
the somberness of this second fading in the distance
a memory being erased
the screams gone silent
her hysterical tears scrubbed harshly from her face
the look of shock smeared from mine
but father stayed still
through the cries he stayed still
and he let the moonlight trickle in through the window
reflecting off of his watch
the seconds ticking into minutes
and transitioning into hours.

we sit for hours in silence
in grief, torment, misery
letting the sound of shuddered breath
and last drags of cigarettes
ghostly wisps in the air
fill the room.

i never noticed the pimples placed around my cheeks and the roughness of my hands intertwined around soft ones. i never batted an eye at my failed attempt at wing eyeliner until i saw girls my age’s eyelashes were longer than mine and their eye makeup sparkled with the L.E.D lights at parties. then i made it my mission to pump three pumps of lotion onto my hands and wash my face religiously and spend thirty minutes in the mirror before school, even if it meant i’d be late. i never knew the standards i set for myself until i realized the pedestal was too high for me to climb. i always told myself i wasn’t afraid of heights but broke down in tears when i got back my test and saw my teacher’s red-inked mark ups. faults of mine swallowed me whole and spat me out into a more flawed version of myself with tears smearing down my cheeks and smudged eyeliner covering my eyes and pimple patches peppered on my face and dry skin all up my arms. i wrote perfectionist in big, bold red letters but was too perfect to notice. i always told myself i wasn’t afraid of heights so i went above and beyond my ambitions, too consumed to realize my high standards were too high for me to reach.

you call me
your princess
but i haven’t been
to your kingdom
in a while.

i tend to set my expectations low and let fate decide if i’m good enough for them. i never really liked the boy in 6th grade, but i really loved the one that got away. i wear pants a lot because i hate shaving my legs. my dad made me uncomfortable throughout my childhood, but i was too afraid to say anything because i thought his actions were normal. i trick myself into thinking i’m lazy but i think i’m just too tired to try. my family is falling apart and no one cares enough to fix it. when you come over, i shove all of my clothes (clean and *****, i didn’t have time to check (i had time to check but didn’t care enough to use it)) under my bed and hope you don’t notice. i feel like i’m not a good daughter but i don’t think i’m a failure just yet. i’m too tired of searching for a boyfriend but i really want one. i know he’s the problem but i wish things were the way they used to be. i’m lonely and i think i’m the reason why. i want to change my identity and i want to escape life and explore another world.

maybe if life moved forward (if i moved forward) then i would find someone better than the boy before. mercury comes with misunderstandings - at least that’s what google is telling me - so maybe you couldn’t tell how much i really liked you (maybe the signs i was giving you weren’t enough and maybe the signs you were giving me were too much.) how much i thought you were the one. how much i dreamed about you (ashamedly, still do). how you could have asked me to prom with a big sign and how i would jump into your arms and scream "yes! of course i’ll go with you." and i even imagined us breaking up and me storming into my room while my mom tried to comfort me and how i cried to olivia rodrigo because i want to relate to breakup songs. i want to feel the heartbreak and see if it's as bad as everyone says it is. that’s not selfish, right? the want (the need, if we’re being real) for you to rip my heart out of my body and shatter my insides until all that’s left of me is broken glass and blood that spells out "see, mom? i like boys afterall." i would look down at the proof that i am lovable and turn my sobs into smiles because i survived the war and am left standing (just without a heart, the will to live, and the haunting realization that you will never love me the way you never did).