Evan
There's literally nothing holding me here. The next day, I'll be so sure everything is keeping me here. My friends -- what love life? -- my family, what else don't I have? What else do I have? Balloons and daisies wait for me in the car and people ask if I'm okay but you know what? It doesn't matter. Cause at the end of the day, I'll do it all the next. I'll snap and apologize and I'll push and I'll mend and l'll cut and regret but no one's ever going to do anything but fade. Fade into memories, fade into the past, fade into an imperfect tense. They'll treat me like a study guide for a test they stayed up with the night before, learning so much only to forget the next day when it's time and I am in need. You make promises and sign your name on the dotted line to our contracts but for what? You break them the next day so now I'm writing letters in the form of poetry and setting dates that match yours. Now maybe you could fail at trying to do me one last favor. Help me choose your favorite: January 1st, you took me. January 17th, you met my parents. January 18th, you took me sober. January 20th, they found out. February 7th, you kissed her again. February 10th, your truths came out yet I stayed. February 20th, I met the parents that used to hit you for God. March 2nd, I cut to release the happy endorphins. March 4th, I told you never to speak to me again. Now which date do you remember? Which date do you choose? I personally like April 1st. You never did laugh at my jokes.
YOU ARE READING
How I Love You
Poetry". . . . Then must you speak / Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well; / Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, / Perplex'd in the extreme. . . ." -Act 5, Scene 2 of Othello by W. Shakespeare A collection of poems to the boys and men I hav...
