the relief of giving in to destruction
and allowing yourself to shake and tremble
as warm memories slide down your cheeks
and soak into your hoodie,
is strange.
its almost a high,
for people like me.
letting everything out when there's nobody there to ask you whats wrong when you dont even know the answer anymore,
when theres nobody to sit around and tell you that everything is gonna be alright when you know but you just dont believe it,
when theres nobody thats gonna ask you 100 times why you guys broke up.
and then keep asking when you are almost in tears, saying that you dont really like to talk about it,
sitting on the bathroom floor, or your bed, or the couch, or the kitchen counter right by the window where you might be able to see his car drive by if you stare long enough.
sobbing and searching until you fall asleep, leaning up against the glass.
waking up and feeling empty, but so much better at the same time
because if you feel guilty,
and you feel sad,
and you feel all of these things that you cant quite put into words,
then it means you are still alive despite the odds.
it means that you arent completely numb yet,
and it means that youre not a completely awful person.
you know,
i think missing you is probably the most beautiful thing ive ever done.
loving you was probably the ugliest,
because i let my own insecurity get in the way of something that finally made me happy.
because i broke my own heart into pieces that looked like pop rocks for you over and over and over,
because i thought i loved you and hated me,
because as it turns out i didnt love you because i didnt know how to,
because i want to love you again and do it right this time,
because i let you do whatever you want to me in hope that you would stay but you fucking didnt anyway,
i am tired of being used and forgotten,
i am tired of meaning nothing to so many people,
im tired.
so ill keep sitting by the window and looking out at the road and telling myself that im not looking for you
when even i know,
as the dust settles and the roof silently caves in,
i always will.
but you already know that.
and that,
to me,
is the most terrifying part.
YOU ARE READING
idk if i can call this poetry
Poetrybook 2 this started out as just writing down my thoughts. poems, quotes and other random stuff. thats what this was supposed to be. instead, it had become a diary. a journal, almost. this is long lost lovers. this is heartbreak. this is one s...
