I look around and I realize
that I miss you only because
nothing there reminds me of you.
Nothing of the smoky party was
ever yours,
but me. and
yet, not
important enough.
12/12/2009
Found this a couple of days ago. I love its rawness.
I want to tell you # 8
I want to say I'm sorry for not being the person I was when we just met. To be stronger than this, feeling like when the chips are down I'm almost scared of what you'd think of me. That you'll love me less. That you would think less of me.
I want to say: don't give up on me. I'm scared of loosing one of the two people in the world that really see me, and believe in me. I want to say; remind me why you love me, remind me I'm not a failure, remind me that I'm capable of greater things. Truly good things. When I care.
I say, I'm scared you will see me like your ex. I love you. Every pour in my body screams, don't make me forget.
I sit on your bed and I feel like a stranger, slipping into another life, as if someone else had lived them until now. I light another cigarette of despair. I consider going home and cutting through my layers of sorrow and epidermis. I hold it all in and listen aimlessly about other people's lives, envious and exhausted of trying to compare myself in means of worth. I'm frightened you'd think I'm too fucked up for you.
I want to say pierce me with your blue, penetrate me with your articulate fingers. Dig deep inside for what I seem to have lost.
I turn to you, not catching your look. My thoughts are roaming. I stand up and say kiss you goodbye, strolling into the night.
July 1st, 2009
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