Last night, I wrote this poem because I forgot to call you.
I say “forgot” because it sounds less desperate than saying “I dialed your number five times but never pressed send,” than saying “I resisted the urge to drive thirty miles to your house just to lodge a noise complaint,” than saying “the thought of you is still in my brain and it’s making a racket, so please turn down the volume.”
See, nothing about this is poetic when it’s been six months and you’re still all I can think about. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to clean up your messes and not overstay your welcome? My mother taught me that there will always be people who have pieces of my heart, but fuck that, my heart’s an empty bottle for you — my heart’s an abandoned quarry.
I’m so tired of your late-night, high-volume escapades, so sick of all this one-sided fighting that you aren’t a part of anymore. The least you could do is show up at my door again so I could slam it in your face. The least you could do is pretend you miss me too.
After six months of all this noise, I’m learning that you were always a loaded gun, baby, and you loved to make me scream. I was always bloodshot, bullet-wound, gut-wrenched lonely. You were always this loud, this deafening and heart-breaking, I was just half-in-love and tripping over my chest and, baby, I didn’t want to hear the way everyone said you’d tear me apart just to watch me bleed.
Seems like I’m reaping it all now, rows upon rows of the poetry that wasn’t ever about me. Seems like I should learn how to plant something other than my heartache. Seems like I’m always breaking over you somehow, six months of wine glasses shattering from the sound of your voice.
Seems like I’m always dialing your number these days, but baby
I swear I’ll never call again.
Boys don’t understand the horrible view girls have of themselves
I’ll always reblog this I think
I should show this to guys when they make comments.
no you dont understand how fucking accurate this is.
The view if myself is the view that is the chub jest on my entire body
THE FACT THAT THIS IS CONCIDERED A AFUCKING HORRIBLE VIEW OF HOW GIRLS SEE THEMSELVES PISSES ME OFF AND MAKES ME WANT TO STAB MY BED OKAY
LISTEN TO ME
YOU ARE FIRECRACKERS
YOU ARE A BLIZZARD
YOU ARE AN APOCALYPSE OF LOVE AND RAGE
YOU ARE NOT AND SHOULD NEVER BE DUMBED DOWN TO WHAT YOUR GODDAMN PERCENTAGE OF FAT TO MUSCLE IS
YOU ARE BROKEN BONES AND SCRAPED KNEES AND THROATED SCREAMS AND YOU
IF YOU LOOK LIKE THIS, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
IF YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE THIS, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
IF YOU THINK YOU LOOK LIKE THIS, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
I AM SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF SEEING WONDERFUL, SMART, TALENTED, WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL GIRLS HATING THEMSELVES BECAUSE OF AN UNREALISTIC EXPECTATION SET ON THEM AT A YOUNG AGE
YOU ARE PERFECT THE WAY YOU ARE
I’ve reblogged this before but I never saw that comment and I’m actually crying omg
Fuck I’m crying
I miss the sound of your voice
in this pathetic, puppy dog kind of way.
I keep panting by the phone,
hoping to hear
my own name.
Can you believe it’s only been
a few days?