you were always the problem.

that response—
the one you had to
that deeply personal admission,
made accidentally—
it’s not normal.
humans don’t react that way
to the hurt
of those they care for.
unless they don’t care.
but that assumption
in itself is unsupportable
considering how humans connect
to the hurt of those
they’ve never met.
perhaps you hate me.
it would be an explanation
confusing yet plausible—
probable even—
i’ve done nothing to merit
this unmitigated disgust
or your boorish lack of courtesy
but frankly,
i lack the energy to care.
i don’t deserve the bitterness you’ve
directed at me or
your callous disregard for my kindness.
you are strange
you are cruel.
you’re a liar.
you were always the problem.

my mistake was coming back
each time you tore me down.



i cannot believe how good it feels
to be free
of the depth of your emptiness.
at the end of the road
where pavement turns to shattered glass
i may bleed
but it will not be for you.
if i meant nothing
it was your brokenness at fault.
i can walk away
because in the end i am everything i need
and you are a mistake.
someone i met.
a face i can only half remember;
it was never familiar.
you are nothing more than a lie
in the ether.

sometimes i wish you’d lie.

i acknowledge what i’ve learned
from you:
never ask a question
you don’t want answered
and yet i hear my voice
so small in the dark
“wouldn’t you miss me if i left?”

your answer doesn’t matter
it’s the silence that speaks
and i don’t have to see your eyes
to know the truth.
i’ve known the truth since the beginning.

sometimes i wish you’d lie.


i grow weary
of navigating your roadblocks
and negotiating your terrain.
your intentional difficulty
takes the joy from the journey;
at this point
i am only tired
and sad.
i am so sad.
i have decided to give
instead of take
and have received nothing but your
unmitigated disdain.
thank you for that,
for the reinforcement.
i will not stop
giving my joy
to those who may not deserve it.
because life happens once
and that is too infrequent to waste on
so you didn’t love me.
and i will never know why.
this is your loss—
remember that when i am gone.


in the waning hours
of this, our moment,
i find my heart filled
with the idea of you.
please don’t leave
not yet.
i can’t ask you to stay.
there is nothing here for you
and likely nothing that you want
as i try in vain
to remember who i was going to be
back when my heart was new.
am i me
with you?
or am i someone else?
i want to disappear
when the lights go out
and lose myself
in the strangeness of you.


i captured your attention once
and it felt like a thousand stars
in that brief span of time
i would have done anything
for you.
but now I’m underwater
under deep ice where the blue turns black
and the pressure is building
as is the shame—
i am better than this.
i deserve better than this.

i am the sun.


there was something in you
that responded to the spark in me
and briefly
my world was on fire.
it was beautiful.
and i felt beautiful too
for that instant
you were bright and hot and real
but now you’ve gone cold
and i am left
in the dark.

a little something different.

There are very few things that hurt more than revealing your true self and being deemed unworthy. Living without artifice is an act of masochism, and yet it is the only way. What is to be gained in leaving this, your only life, without risking it all, at least once? Without baring your soul to someone you know probably doesn’t deserve it? It doesn’t seem as if there are many out there that take our hearts seriously, but every once in awhile, someone does. Someone looks past their own brokenness and sees you for who you are, with all of the awkward ugliness that comes along with being human, and just loves you. Loves your heart, your soul, your scars, your deep, unhealed wounds. Loves you even though it scares the shit out of them because they have their own scars and wounds too.

You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, and if you have to convince someone that you’re worth the trouble, they aren’t. Being complicated and imperfect doesn’t make you unlovable, but refusing to love people as you demand to be loved does. There is nothing uglier than someone who is careless with the hearts of others. Who is imperfect but demands perfection. Who destroys something beautiful, just because they can.