1 Year after Coming Clean

Your ex-whatever
pops up on my
“people you may know”
and I remember the poem—

only girls who break you
get a poem written about them—

and I remember you leaning
against a truck in B lot
and telling me
that to her,
you were “too happy”.

I remember telling you
“I never liked her anyway”,
because that’s what I usually say

in these situations
where you’re mad at your heart
for getting hung up on a rose of a girl
with words that cut like thorns,

mad at yourself for falling,
for getting a poem written about you
with a cliché simile.

And this girl,
with the quirky eyebrows
and sanguine smirk,
never can be caught smiling
in any of the photos she shares with the
the world

and that might not
justify me not liking her,

but it sure makes me feel good
when I can get you laughing, teeth bared
in the moonlight.

And I thank God
for your broken heart;

for a poem where
you compare her to smoke,
to coke,
to everything that kept you
at the brink of falling apart,

because
she’s gone now
and I’m sitting in a car
with your hand tracing circles on my hip
in pure silence,

and I know when I told you earlier
“I want the very best for you”,
not only was it sincere,
it’s because I believed
you deserve it.

Authenticity

While I still lack resolve,
let me say this:
there is something about
when you say my name
that strikes fear in me;
because the next words out of your mouth
are always the truths I’m not ready to hear
like you care,
like you’re here because you want to be.

But what’s even worse,
is that I believe them

—that we find ourselves
listening to playlists
in the back seat of my car,
where I got excited over choirs
and clap-backs,
where your fingers are making circles on my skin
and I’m talking a mile a minute

and when I apologize for it,
you laugh. Say: “you’re fine”
(though I know it)
I tell you: “I know I’m too much to handle”
only to have you negate it.

Three weeks ago I told you
I loved you,
not expecting to hear you repeat it.
Last night,
for the first time in a long time,
you gave me a reason to believe it.

I’m Not a Duck

It’s been a few days but
can you let me rest a bit?
I’ve been trying to be a well of joy,
but the rest aren’t diving into it.

I’m trying not be bitter,
trying to make the days shorter,
trying to understand
why I’m here amidst the thick
of these people
who haven’t got their lives
figured out yet—

and yes,
maybe I took a rain-check.
Maybe I let God be the ringmaster
so I wouldn’t have to take credit
for going nowhere.
For being stuck a week
before my 22nd and
knowing no one but
my family will help me celebrate
it.

And that’s really what it comes down to,
isn’t it?
That you’re trying to be friendly,
and end up being called
“fake”.
You’re trying to fill in your free time
with a plans that no one wants to make.
You have some kid
who tells you
you need to get guys
but yet he says
you can’t get guys
because, he says,
you’re not flirty
and you want to laugh,
but wait—
the smile covers up the pain.
You hide you’re face,
dig back into your job and
ask

can I rest now,
for just a little bit?
Can I take a break?

 

November 9th.

I miss talking to you.

 

 

I got changed into an old high school T-shirt and baggy sweatpants, threw on a sweatshirt and my first thought is: “I wanna talk to (you).”

I wanna see somebody that doesn’t care that I’m not wearing makeup and playing with my hair.

I wanna talk to his cat that would no doubt certainly interrupt the conversation.

I wanna see him and ask him about his day.

 

How was work?

How’s your sister holding up?

Is your brother happy with his new girlfriend?

Happy anniversary. Congratulations.

 

And I would be entirely sincere.

I would hope you’d talk back.

I’d hope I’d lie in bed and you wouldn’t hang up first.

I’m sure one of us (me) would go off on a tangent.

And maybe, we’d laugh like old times.

 

I can still see you,

Beats on,

one behind your ear and your brow furrowed as you most likely focus on homework or a computer screen.

And I would watch you,

And we would talk about everything and nothing

Mostly the aftermath of what I was going through,

And you wouldn’t let me suffer alone, at first.

 

But now,

I’m sorry the hours are draining you.

And we both know the end of the semester can’t come soon enough.

But I’m still here.

And I still want to be friends.

As stupid as that may seem.

 

 

I just really miss talking to you.

Momentos from my Mind

I make up these moments
I’ve only seen in my mind
Moments with you,
In our alternate lives.
You spill pieces of your soul,
And I become refined.
A picture perfect couple,
One that doesn’t exist in this kind
Of life we live,
There is no bridge
To the world that I create
That knows not of time or space,
Only the words I’d hope you’d say,
The words I can only pray
To hear in these conversations,
These situations
That are created in the creases,
Like crevices full of cobwebs,
Words strung together using thin threads
Of my imagination,
A twisted creation,
My mind does not craft them in a haze
In
This H(e)aven,
This Alter,
Which only exists
In my mind.