you wanted to be loved, and i was there.

I don’t love like I used to.
I have this terrible feeling in my heart.
Rather, it is a lack of feeling.
Or rather, it is a numbness, the unbearable absence of all things.
Like all this empty in my chest has turned it still and quiet.  Like it crawled out to my lungs and made them stop breathing.  Like it took over my head and made it grow heavy, turned rock-hard and aching. Like it reached out to my limbs and my hands and my fingers and made them go numb.

Right now, I am kissing you and right now I am somewhere else.
Right now, my eyes are on yours but they’re looking right through you.
Right now our bodies are intertwined and already I am miles away, and I have gone limp.
Already I am touching the stars and kissing them instead.
Already I am walking on sand and the waves have caught up to my feet.
Already I am thinking of drowning.

I can’t be what you want.
You want a love that is all devouring, drowning in each other.
You want a love you could get lost in, one you could step into and find yourself waist-deep in all its soft and wanting.
You want a love that is sporadic, unplanned, and ever changing.
You want this entity, but you’re wrong.
You don’t need much, just someone to fall back on.

And you deserve that.  You deserve the world.
You deserve a love that swallows you whole, that wraps itself around you, sinks into your bones, and supports you at your lowest.
You deserve a love that is present and real.
You deserve a love that is everything but all this empty.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

the quiet limbo

They tell you to stop chasing the past; that you’re here in the moment.
But really, you’re stuck in the moment.
No, you’re stuck in the aftermath of it, in the calm after the storm.
You’re stuck in the loose hairs you found on your pillow and the way you couldn’t speak for days.
You’re stuck in the quiet limbo.
The dead silence.
The moments after the fall when your limbs are all broken, but you know you’re still alive.
You’re stuck in the rain melting down your windshield and the way you leaned when your car swerved.
The maps you found built in your own body and the places that turned into warzones.
You’re stuck in fault lines, where your skin crashed together and left scars.
You’re stuck in fault lines, and they’re beginning to crack open.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

 

maybe nothing is ever the same after

you want to kiss her.
because maybe she kisses you back.
maybe you are lying awake in your bedroom in the dark, with the dull talking of movies surrounding you. with her reflection on the screen.
and her arm against yours.
maybe you turn to her and you kiss her.
and for a moment it’s terrifying.
and for a moment it’s so much peace.
maybe she moves the hair out of your eyes and kisses you back.
maybe her fingers intertwine with yours.
maybe all the pieces fit together, your bodies collapse into each other.

and maybe she doesn’t.
maybe you lie there for hours.
sitting on different continents with the sheets lifting oceans between you.
your eyes watch her and neither of you move.
maybe the credits roll and she doesn’t look at you.
maybe your mouth runs dry.
maybe that’s how you spend the rest of your life.
wanting to kiss her but never even reaching her.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

did you know Brooklyn is dutch for “broken valley” ?

did you know I never learned to swim?
or that I quit piano lessons before the teacher could say I was no good?
did you know in kindergarten I told everyone my middle name was Elizabeth, because I was too embarrassed of my real one?
did you know I tried to tell the nurse I had pink eye because I didn’t want to count to 100 in front of the rest of the class?
or that when I was five I was tricked into playing a “game” where the goal was to be suffocated?
did you know that was the last time my brother let me “hangout” with him?

did you know I would cry every time my mother told me she loved me, because she would end it with, “I would take a bullet for you.” and I refused to accept her mortality?
or that I have a weird bump on my head from when my dad accidentally closed a car trunk on it when I was eight?
did you know I received the Scholars Award every year until high school?
or that I received only one detention in my entire life, and it was given to me by my own mother?

did you know I could play the clarinet?
or that I was in band for two years before I realised I didn’t like music?
did you know that I was the reason Mr. Clauser made the rule of “No students behind my desk” because I threw up on his computer?
did you know that I was called to the office because a girl told them I wasn’t eating?
or that the counselor was concerned I was only eating cotton balls?
did you know I was a cheerleader?
or that I was only on the track team for three days?
did you know I cut my foot playing in a dirty ass creek I shouldn’t have been in to begin with?
or that I jumped off the train trestles and that’s when I decided I wasn’t afraid anymore?

did you know that when I first got my license, I would drive to the cemetery and spend hours visiting graves?
or that I started doing this because I got lost trying to find my niece’s grave, but found that I was less anxious when sitting in the cemetery alone?
did you know I spent every lunch with my chemistry teacher because I didn’t have friends and I didn’t want to go home to an empty house?

did you know I was twelve when I decided I never wanted to have kids?
or that I was eighteen when I found out that I could never have them?
did you know that it took six months for me to finally sleep with my boyfriend for the first time?
or that I didn’t talk to him for two weeks afterwards?
did you know the first time I got drunk was the night of project graduation?
or the reason was because of Him?
did you know that night I finished a bottle of captain in thirty minutes and spent the next four hours throwing up?
or that I thought the boy taking care of me was just trying to be nice, when in reality he just wanted to fuck me?
did you know two months later I let Him break me again?
or that a girl wanted to fight me, because she fucked my boyfriend while we were together, and I called her desperate and pathetic?

did you know I almost slept with one of His roommates to get back at Him, but chickened out at the last minute?
thank god I did, or He wouldn’t have been able to break me for the fourth time.
did you know that I let myself be broken, torn down, and ruined by a lot of people? more people than I ever want to admit aloud.
did you know I had a male roommate once, and after an incident on family game night, I never left my bedroom door unlocked?
did you know that I’m not as innocent as you think?
or that I’ve learned more about you than you will ever try to learn about me?

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

we tore each other apart

You see, that’s the problem when two artists fall;
they tear each other apart and pretend that it is beautiful.

And maybe it is beautiful when it starts.
maybe it is beautiful when it starts with lipstick streaking chapped mouths, and words swimming under tongues, and breaths and cold air expanding between both of our lungs.
Maybe it is beautiful when it starts with 4pm coffee stains spilling inked promises on your bedroom floor that you never dared to speak, and dreary morning eyes carrying charcoal on the lines of my face because neither of us would risk blinking in fear that the other will disappear.

But it is no longer beautiful when you steal words from between my teeth and swallow them like your fifth shot of Jameson, and spew them out three months later on notebook, after notebook, after notebook, after I have already left.

And it is no longer beautiful when I dip my hands into your wrists like I am trying to piece you back together before I decide to stop loving you, only to find parts of you lined in blood red paint on empty canvases like my hands have not yet learned to forget you.

we will tear each other apart and pretend that it is beautiful, and three months later you are still choking on words and my hands still shake with blood.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write