Trouble

I have so many things to say.
So many feelings to express,
too many words to choose from.

So I won’t.

Words only bring trouble.

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Yesterday

If it’s any consolation,
I’m trying to be better than the person I was yesterday.

The day we broke each other
because one of us was too much
and the other wasn’t enough…

It’s funny now I can’t remember who was who
or what was what
or why I woke up this morning
without your calloused hands tangled in my disheveled hair.

Tomorrow will be the same.

I’ll spend it wondering
if anything you said was true.
If maybe I really did want to live in a movie,
I just didn’t want my co-star to be you.

If maybe you were wrong about me
no. you were definitely wrong.
but so was I.

I guess we’re both made of lies.

Yesterday knows too much
and tomorrow shivers with anticipation
that it will be forced to succumb
to the chaos of a broken heart.

All I can do
is take one step at a time and
walk away from the yesterday
when I was in love with you

And learn that I am better
than who you think I am.

Okay, Now It’s Just Sad

Stop telling me how sorry you are
and how you’ve finally realized just how badly you fucked up.
I don’t want your apologies.

Because I don’t believe them anymore.
They are just words,
so that you can feel better about yourself.
They certainly are not for my benefit.

And that’s fine,
if it helps you sleep at night…

I know the catharsis of sewing sentences
into the crooks of your elbows
and tattooing confessions on your shoulder blades

Write a thousand letters,
but please don’t send them to me.

Keep them in a box,
burn them with a lighter
throw them in the trash
send them to Post Secret
write poetry about your agony

Write until you can no longer bleed.
Just don’t leave the bloodstains on me.
I have enough of my own already.

Forgive yourself.

Don’t look to me for approval.
You won’t find it.

Don’t say shit like,
you’ll never be over me
and you’ll always be here
just in case I change my mind.

You’ll get over me only if you want to,
if you put in the effort to move on.
I’ll tell you it won’t be easy,
but it is possible.

You aren’t here.
I don’t want you here.
And some day you’ll resent staying
because I’m not going to change my mind.
Don’t waste your time on me.

Stop telling me things will be different.
They won’t.
We’ll both end up right back here,
bitter and angry
wishing things could have worked out different.

Stop making promises
we both know you can’t keep.

Refuse to be stuck in this place of grief and madness
don’t think for one second
I’ll come around and save you…
you have to save yourself.

That’s something you taught me

All That’s Left is Fear

I’m afraid to think about you.
I’m afraid to mention you.
I’m afraid to write about what you did to me.
I’m afraid to leave my house.
I’m afraid to look in the wrong direction.
I’m afraid to laugh.
I’m afraid to let other people in.

I’m afraid to love myself because you made me believe
I’ll never be good enough.

I’m afraid you’ll show up on my doorstep again
demanding that I love you.

And I’m afraid you’ll never accept that I don’t.

And I’m terrified it will push you over the edge,
and everything will hurt all over again.

Burn

I saved every letter you wrote me
From the moment I read them
I knew you were mine
You said you were mine
I thought you were mine


You and your words flooded my senses
Your sentences left me defenseless
You built me palaces out of paragraphs
You built cathedrals
I’m re-reading the letters you wrote me
I’m searching and scanning for answers
In every line
For some kind of sign
And when you were mine
The world seemed to

Burn
Burn

Another Honest Poem (I Swear This Is The Last Poem I’ll Pretend Isn’t About You)

I don’t think about you as often as I used to.
But when I do, the thought still rattles around inside my ribcage,
knocking on the door to my heart

Knock, knock.
Let’s talk.

I don’t miss you as often as I used to.
And when I do, the ache doesn’t quite make it all the way to my fingertips.

I think it’s because my nerves are starting to forget
the handful of times we touched.

I hate what you did to me.
I hate the way you said you were sorry.
I hate that your apologies mean nothing now.
I hate how it still feels like everything is my fault.

I hate that for a split second last night I wished I could call you.
Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Like I could tell you how sad I’ve been lately,
and for once you would just listen without trying to fix everything
You would just sit in the sadness with me. So I wouldn’t be alone.

Like I could tell you I’m afraid to love him,
and for once you could put your jealousy aside
to tell me that love rides a tandem bike with fear
and I’d laugh through the tears
because I never understood your metaphors

Like you would tell me what you had for lunch today
and the man you sat next to on the bus asked you about the book you were reading that I recommended
And you told him you liked it so far.

Like we were friends.

But we were never friends.
Not really.
I don’t think we ever could be.

And that’s one of the many reasons why you’ll never hear from me again.