I hate the smoke, the lies that you
hide behind. I hate that when you
say you’re trying I know that you
aren’t. But, you love me. You love
how easily I’ll forgive you. You love
how easily I’ll believe you again.
This was not part of the agreement.
I did not sign my heart over to you
with a clause saying fuck me over,
you won’t be at fault.
I do not love you.
I tolerate you with burst of love for someone
who you aren’t anymore. And I want to know why.
I want honesty and clarity into where the old
you went, the one who held me when I cried
over the boys who never loved me.
And I want to know why he doesn’t love me anymore.
I want to know why I am stuck with you instead.
I want to move on, but you’re always there,
behind every corner, with that smile that says,
"just give me one more chance."
The parking lot at night where
we stopped for cigarettes, before
your car wouldn’t start, makes me
think of you.
When I go to see a band I like at
a venue in the city there’s always
a moment where I wonder if I’ll
run into you.
It’s almost been a year but I
still cry when I’m in the shower
because the water will never be
hot enough, and I will never
scrub hard enough and your
touch will never be washed off
of my skin.
When someone spills, for example, coffee on you
and it’s hot and it burns your skin
you should be able, as an inalienable right
to tell them to go fuck themselves but
after, of course, they bring you ice for your wound.
But I, for example, would bite my tongue
and probably apologize for getting in the
way of their spilling coffee
after I like a sad mutt, would run to the
sink with my tail between my legs to soak
my burning flesh under cold water. Mother
always said adults were allowed to get angry
but children should stay quiet and know
their place and I never learned how to
I want to sit in your passenger seat
and feel the wind blow through my hair.
I want to tease you about your tense knuckles
and how distracted you get when I’m there beside you.
I want to sit on the edge of your mattress
running my mouth about a generation I’ve lost hope in
one that we belong to.
and I want to lay down in the grass
where we’ve laid so many times
and tell you I love you like I have so many times before
but I want it to feel different
like a gust of wind
a sudden realization
a cool summer rain
I want to sit in your passenger seat.