sixty-six

There’s something deep in my gut, clenching and twisting. I can almost hear it saying ‘stupid girl, I told you nothing good happens after 2AM’

sixty-five

Always good. Never good enough. Adequate for a 3AM Snapchat, but insufficient for a 3PM text message. All I ever wanted to do was love you; all you ever wanted to do was let me; all we ever got was heartbreak.

sixty-four

The contractor’s hitting on me, I’ve broken all the tools, the blueprint is just a mess of pretty symbols, and still people yell at me to build my walls up higher.

sixty-three

Your apologies offend the heavy beating of my weakened heart. 

sixty-two

So yes, I do care. I care deeply. I have the kind of fragile heart that simply will not give up. No matter how battered or how wrenched, it’ll give and beat. Even for you, even though this is no longer your problem. It’s becoming offensive that you think yours can possibly care as much as mine.

sixty-one

You stood outside and lit cigarette haphazardly hanging in between lips that should've been on mine. I stared. I couldn't do much else. You were so approachable. And so unapproachable. A walking contradiction of everything I wanted so desperately to figure out. All I wanted to do was walk up to you, place myself under your arm, and have you look at me like I was something to be admired. I thought about this as she found herself wrapped around you.

sixty

These poems are really no longer about you. They’re more about the person I wish you’d be. They’re no longer moments we had. They’re more moments we’ll never see. These are no longer words of reminiscence. These are words of resilience.