the first time a girl left me, I dreamt of drowning and woke up weeping
I'd been laying in bed cuddling a pillow, back to the wall, where she used to be
in the beginning I thought about calling her
go to her house heart in hand, wanting her to take it back
six months later, after toying with my heart
there she was with someone else who wore skinny jeans and a plaid shirt
I was abandoned again
I was always told to be strong and walk away
but even strong women need their hands held
I measured my level of loneliness in the number of cigarette butts
that were left on the plate on my kitchen counter
I soon began to equate the smell of smoke with loneliness
I threw her earrings off my apartment balcony
and watched them disappear as they fell to the ground below
that day I discovered yet another metaphor for a broken heart
YOU ARE READING
gas station flowers
Poetrycoming of age poetry by a queer young adult writer. navigating relationships and the coming out process. peak inside the mind of a young woman with a mental illness.
