Midnight Memoirs and Other Poems

Rose

-I want to write more poetry, but nothing will amount to the beauty of when you told me you loved me for the first time.

-She said the sunrise was pretty, but I was looking at her, thinking I had never something more beautiful than her. ~5:47 am

-How can someone so beautiful be so broken by the one she loved the most?

-I hate that you're my muse. That my poetry is filled with so much sadness and hatred and a pretty girl with ocean blue hair and summer green eyes. I hate that. I constantly think about you and I barely cross your mind. You took pieces of me and I don't know how to get them back. You ruined every fucking part of me. I don't know how to get rid of you. How do I remove your fingerprints off my body? How do I banish you from my head? Why are you still here? I don't love you anymore, I hate you. I don't want you consuming my everyday thoughts, my decisions, you're not worth it. So why can't I get rid of you?

-I think maybe it's time to visit you again. After all, you were my muse. ~Her

-When his arms wrap around you they won't feel like hers. When he kisses your lips they won't be soft like hers. When his eyes meet yours you won't get butterflies in your stomach. You won't have midnight ice cream trips with him. You won't listen to summer songs in the middle of winter at the top of your longs. When it rains he won't drive you around the city so you can see the street lights reflect off the shallow puddles. And when you reach for her in your bed you find him instead, disappointed, is when you know you're still not over her.

-She released her grip on my throat, yet I still asked for permission to breathe.

- I hate that I can't remember what you said that night. Even more, I hate that my response was, "okay." ~August 8th, 2015

-Maybe if I had fought for you that night we'd still be together. But weren't you supposed to fight for me too?

-Maybe writing about you wasn't my prison. Instead it was my retreat.

- There was a time when I'd lay down on my bedroom floor and listen to those songs that make me cry. There was a time where I couldn't keep food down. There was a time when I saw you and couldn't breathe. But I'm no longer a prisoner to your sick games. I'm stronger and I'm letting go.

-No more poetry, no more rhymes, here I am, saying my last goodbye.