if life was like a book,
you would have just been a chapter
and I could’ve closed it,
moved on
found closure.

to some people
I “fabricate” things,
turn people into characters
and pull out the pieces that seem
“most promising”
like all my friends
are hellbent on
destroying me
take companions because I can’t
combat the lonely.

because I am a writer,
I must be good at fantasizing;
and every story I wrote about us,
every poem I wrote for him,
every back my nails scratched into
must make one hell of a map
back to an altered reality,
because none of those things
happened actually;

and if this life was a book,
I’d have already skimmed through to the ending.
wouldn’t waste time on exposition
and backstory.
I would look for dialogue
and every romantic scene.
I would be a plotline
fully developed
and there would be fanfic about
this life I lead.

So listen,
if MY life is really just a matter
of creating a made up hero
to keep me company,
if I’m writing about
or “pulling from” anybody,
let them be the love interest,
let them be the protagonist,
let them all resemble a character worth rooting for.

Let them be me.


While You’re Figuring Yourself Out

At the end of the day,
you’re not here anymore.
Whether that is metaphorical
as well as physical
is still indecipherable,
but nonetheless,
you aren’t the big brother
you’d said you’d be.

And that used to bother me.

(I guess you can argue
that it still does
if I’m putting you in poetry,)
But the truth is this:

While I’m not where I want to be,
I’m stronger.
And while I’m still working out the kinks,
I know what I stand for.

When love walked out,
what did you turn to?
And I know you may never tell me.

And that’s okay,
because at the end of the day,
even if this is a fluke,
even though this is barely a thread of a friendship
and a fray of the past,
this time I’ll be just fine when you leave.

Did you know,
I’m learning how to quiet the anxiety that used to keep me up for hours?
Did you know when my head hits the pillow,
I now have peace?

Because when I walked away from love,
I went back to belief.

Your Eyes on Little Me

I’m excited
for when you become a dad.

This isn’t the normal break-up poem,
about how I would’ve been the perfect mom,
how our children
would be a reason for staying together all this time,
or a way to make-up for “never getting over”

because I have.

But “Next to You” is playing
and I’m feeling nostalgic.

So let me say that I’m excited
you’d be the father
that lets his child believe
they can fly.
You’ll be the daddy
his little girl comes running to,
the one she’ll want the love of her life to be modeled after.

Promise me
you’ll never lose that light in your eyes
and the laugh
that shakes a whole room.
Promise me
you’ll tell them
all the good and bad things
and you’ll recall with clarity
the moments that made you,
for them,
to them.

It’ll take time,
but when I see a dad charging toward his kid
like a plane,
I’ll see you.
And when I see a child
it’ll sound like you.

We grew apart,
but promise me,
you’ll never grow up.