I’m so used to writing out of sadness, that I’m unsure how to write about you. I’ve written about dark places and empty faces. How ex-lovers stripped colour from my world like I was nothing more than a scrapped canvas in their art exhibit. I’ve found difficulties in wording how you’ve slowly brought it back. That with each kiss on my lips placed by yours is filling each blank space in my heart like watercolour, bleeding love into every crack.
When one is so used to finding beauty in darkness, they’re often blinded by the light.
I have not and never will be the girl of your dreams. There will be days when I will hardly be your girl at all. That’s why I tell you that I’m no good because I want you to know it.
It’s not because I will not love you nor is it because I will leave. It’s because I may hold your heart too tight and crush it without notice or care. Or sometimes it will seem like I was never even there. I have a tendency to burn myself by holding flames that should never have been lit in the first place.
I have burns in places that are scarred memories of the time I let myself burn where memories had withered, yet I stood until I was nearly ash.
Please believe me when I say that I will not leave you. That is to say that when I do, it’s not because I did not love you. It’s because I loved you more than myself and did not want you to know me anymore than you do now.
I am no good. I am afraid to love you as your smile screams to me like gasoline and I’m an untamed flame waiting for a spark. Your heart burns like a candle wick and I’m just looking for a reason to see in the dark.
I’m not sure what happened,
but somewhere along the line our nothing became something to me.
the worst part about that is
now every fibre of my being is screaming to run,
to ruin it.
it’s screaming that it’s one-sided.
my heart is bursting into flames,
yours is trying to pour cold water to douse me with pain.
that I’m preparing myself to run into a brick wall again,
and soon enough I’ll be covered in bruises.
I didn’t want this to be anything,
and the problem is that it isn’t anything.
my heart has tried to plant its roots in your garden
while yours is trying to pick me out like a weed.
and my mind is saying
to stop trying to grow with you because
I’m not a flower you’re willing to feed.
though I’m unsure if my mind is playing tricks again,
and I’m not sure if you’re just a friend.
the worst part?
I don’t want to ask,
because frankly.. I’m scared to be right.
when they said his name, I didn’t think of the way his hand touched mine. for a second I forgot about the words I spit from my mouth when his tried to taste my tongue. no, I thought of when he spoke your name and asked what I saw in you. I remember that night you kept me safe when his hungry eyes saw me as nothing more than a mouse to chase. I may not remember that night, but I’ll never forget that in my darkest hours you were my light. I was the match and you were my flame. now you’re nothing but a burned out wick and I’m smoke in the wind. memories of us have began to fade but I’ll never forget how we burned together.
dear god, we could have set the world on fire.
We were so excited to spend fall together. You were going to play me songs on your guitar aside bonfires in your backyard, while I sit curled up beside you in your hoodie.
You promised me we’d have a candlelit bath and drink cheap wine, because you know how much I loved both.
We were supposed to spend Christmas together and watch movies, those stupid ones that everyone watches around the holidays. I do it every year, and you wanted to make me smile.
None of those actually happened. You even told me you’d spend my birthday with me.. but when the time came you were nowhere to be found.
Its almost summer now.
And now you’re not even around.
Isn’t it funny how things work out?
tell me im replaceable
i’ll love you even more
i always seems to love the ones
with one foot out the door
I can’t stop crying and it’s not like a tear now and then. It won’t stop and I can’t stop, I don’t want to. I just feel so lonely, and not a lonely that I’m used to. I kept tell myself and others that you need to be okay on your own but I’m at the point where I’m always alone. I drive people away. I don’t have anybody. I keep thinking I have you but I’m not even sure I do anymore.
I think I’ve made up this delusion that you still care and are in my life, because without that I’d truly have nobody. I’ve opened up to you and I’m so scared that you’re closed off because that would cause everything to fall apart. We don’t even talk, and you’re not even there when I call half the time. Probably more than half the time.
But I think I would go crazy to know you’re actually gone. Though I also want to know if you are so I can hide away from everyone. Without worrying if I’m leaving anyone behind. I’m just.. I don’t even know anymore. I’m nothing.
I don’t want to exist, in some ways I feel like I don’t. How that is, I’m not quite sure. I mean I’m here but not you know?
I know you must get tired of my late night texts/calls, but if you’re up please answer. You’re the only person I have that I actually talk to and I’m just feeling.. I don’t even know..
Now I wonder if your “I miss you” was just a whiskey-fuelled way to keep me around. I’m tired of being that late night call, knowing you smell of cheap booze and cigarettes while I lay in bed wrapped in your t-shirt. You feed me sweet words and empty promises that I know have no substance but it keeps me going. I feed off of your distance, it keeps me grounded. You’ve become my centre, and I’m left wandering aimlessly as pieces, hoping you’ll bring me back together. I’m tired of leaving messages that go unanswered, of being nothing to you until you’re satisfied with where we stand. Reeling me back in like a fish on a line, with no intentions of unleashing the hook you’ve pierced through my lip. And I haven’t realized the damage it’s done because each time it rips, you kiss it better. I don’t know any better. And you know that.
What will it take? Until you tear me apart?
I taste beer off of strangers tongues, reminds me of when our lips met on your fathers deck. The smell always made me sick but how I wish I could have one more chance to run my hand around your neck. To hold you on a couch that’s just small enough for two, and how scared I was of falling in love but you made it easy to.
Oh how I wish there was still something between me and you
i. My mothers hands never had a soft land on the skin across my cheek. Always rough side, knuckle bared swipe leaving me with the realization I could never do right. Could always do better, be better, be nothing like anything. Just say what she thought and do as she does and I could walk away with less bruises this time.
ii. That’s why when his rough hands took fistfuls of hair I grit my teeth, I did not swear. He always said, I could be like her. He wanted me to be like her. Just do as he says, and say what he needs and I would leave with less cuts on my knees.
iii. Yet her.. her hands seemed soft and safe, unlike past skin – against mine did not chafe. Though soft hands proved strong grips, with nails like claws – skin rips. She always said it was my fault. So I do as she says, repeat words that pass her lips in hopes that maybe this time she’ll loosen grips.
I learned to trust no hands, not even my own. As the most damage dealt was done alone.