I threw words like quoiromantic and queerplatonic at you like
hand grenades,
and you said you'd figure me out,
draw out my messes
(this was before you told me you fall
in love with every girl)
(work best with disasters, all the
more things to talk about)
last year you asked me to be your
Valentine,
isn't it stupid how I'd be willing to
cut my roots and shrink into
the skin of a girl who
didn't know her definitions; to
go back?
this year you forgot my birthday,
I told you it was fine, knew your memory
doesn't like dates,
would rather electron orbit around
gravitational laws,
(but you dangle pretty,
grand words of 'always' and
'for you' in front of me like
fortune cookie papers
you wrap around your finger—
wish it true)
making me chase signs of life when you
know I can't walk away,
know that I'm afraid of falling,
know that you're the last person to make it
past my walls after the purge,
and I'm letting all the hinges
rust shut
I know the seasons of your cycle,
the freeze and the thaw and the
'idk I just felt like texting you'
and maybe this time I shouldn't
'everything gets better with time'
shouldn't
hold on to the idea of you.
YOU ARE READING
Moving On
Poetrya collection of poetry about moving on, relationships, self growth, and emotions. "sixteen is learning you are better than you know, you are more beautiful than you know, it is picking up the pen and writing your own definitions."
