You’ve got to stop believing the best of people.

I grew up thinking
that the goal in life
was to gain love
I realized I wasted many years
when the only thing I wanted
was trust

I used to be afraid of the dark
But then I grew up
and realized there were greater things to fear
Like loving someone that will never love you

I want so badly
to go back to a better time
with you
there was never a time
when things weren’t bad for us

You never physically hurt me
But you scarred me in ways I’ve never felt before
Some nights I stare at the street lights
Thinking who you’re with
Who you’re letting in the front door
Sleeping around
the mirror reflects a broken lying cheap whore
I loved you
I hate you more and more
Forgiving, how I’ve always been before
You are heartless
barren, broken, and cold to the core
I remember when I struck you
You still led me to the door

When you left
I thought I would be empty
I was full of regret and pain

Be careful 
who you show 
your bruised parts to, 
some will make them better, 
while others will make them worse.

The wicked
will persecute you 
not for your insecurities,
faults, or weaknesses,
but for theirs.

The night I found out you were fucking people who weren’t me,
I wrote the shortest poem in the world,
which would turn out to be a self fulfilling prophecy of sorts,
because this is what my life was reduced to:
“Need me or leave me alone.”

think of me as numbers,
black symbols on a page,
stamps of lines,
I want to be something you never understood.

If it is felt in parts 
that cannot speak, 
it is real and worth it.

Let it choke you and
become the air you breathe,
it is real and worth it.

I’m going to write a dictionary and fill it with all the meanings that are never said. I’ll invent words for everything that I feel, like your hand on my bare ribs, the worry I have about the safety of someone I love, the cloud of creamer that blooms in a cup of coffee, the silence between two people who lie awake, unspeaking in the middle of the night. 
Little moments, tiny moments, seemingly insignificant moments that survive unnoticed on their own like pennies on the sidewalk, but when you stack them up, collect them in one place, they constitute a tangible autonomy. This will be the basis of my dictionary

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