I look

I look for you beneath my fingernails sometimes,

Seeing if somehow there’s anything left of you.

I search frantically,

Scraping and clawing beneath them.

I don’t know what I expect,

The only thing I ever find is blood.

In the bathtub the dead skin upon my fingertips bulges.

be good

my soul has it’s hands around my throat.

do i have to do this?

do i have to be this impossible thing?

this being who forgives and forgets,

who grieves like a grapevine,

ready to produce life from pain.

i can’t.

my purpose pulses within my veins but…



i’m surprised we still speak

it’s strange


definitively not wanting me


definitively wanting you

we’re not good together

not even as friends

we’re a biological imbalance

an act of ongoing impulse

constantly inconsistent

was i using you?


were you using me?

maybe both are true


a straight boy taught me what consent was when i was seventeen.

he taught me that consent was implicit

the moment he pushed down on my head with his explicit fingers.

there was push.

there was pull.

there was push

and there was me,

not pulling away hard enough.

gone. gone. gone

i promise we remember you.

i know right now we’re talking about how the weeds have grown over the tree stumps

and how the dirt has sunken beneath a mans grave,

but it’s not really about the carnations or the ornaments that have shattered in the storm.


it’s not very poetic but you’re a dick.

i kept letting it slide because once you called me perfect

and i thought it was about something more

but it was about skin.

i’m just a boy made of bones.

my body was never of any value to anyone else,

holes in holes

i can’t imagine what it must have felt like

to think you couldn’t leave me.

i used your ribs as a cradle.

you tried not to cringe

when your bones creaked.

my little brother died

and you loved me enough to hold me

through the hurt. i…

i was stupid

i always thought it was strange how you let me keep twenty dollars worth of change,

as if that undid anything that you had done.

i loved you and you didn’t love me enough to admit you loved me

so you folded that wad of cash between…

a sip of seventeen

i think i’m drunk on seventeen.

the way we play beer pong

the way your hands grip my shoulders and


when i can’t hit a solo cup.

you wanted me to come and

you wanted me to stay

and i try not to read too…

why can’t i forgive you

if you ever get tired of being unforgivable

i’ll forgive you.

i’ll wipe the vomit from your lips

with my bare fingertips

and i’ll tell you that it’s okay.

i’ll know you didn’t want to hurt me

and i’ll forgive you because

you won’t be hurting me anymore.

you won’t need to say sorry

because that part will be over.

we’ll be past all the apologies

we’ll be past this.

i won’t tell you what you did wrong.

i won’t scream or cry.

i’ll just tell you it’s okay,

even though it isn’t

because it’s been four years

and i still can’t figure out how to just

forgive you

when all you do is

forget me.


just a guy writing some sad poetry

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