I am so used to ripping myself apart
in service to others,
expecting
and receiving little in return,

that of course I am stuck
on the one person who said,
"I am selfish,
and cannot give you what you deserve.
I will not do this to you."

Of course I am stuck
on the one person
who realizes they will take and take
but will not give,
what I know I can survive,
and so they do as I would.

I would not do this to me,
and yet he has.

I am so gone.

To the Author

Get your life together, girl.

B R E A T H E

It may be
the last week of classes
and every deadline
is pressing down
meanwhile Stage Manager duties
kicked in earlier than you thought.

Doesn't matter.

You've survived worse
and will survive greater.
You can
(after all,
the Lord Almighty
is on your side).

Keep playing at being okay.
Dive into that role
with no hesitations.
Tell yourself
that lie
enough times
and it will become true.

You've done this before
and it has worked.
I believe in you,
and that it will work again.

A Drunk Poem to the man that was my "This One"

It's 2am,
and I want to text you.

I'm more than a little drunk-
on both champagne and friendship-
so inhibitions are lowered.

but i won't.

I won't tear from you
the time you need to
h e a l
from whatever
w o u n d s
I dealt.
Or maybe the only one who dealt them was
y o u.

that might be the gin talking,
so i apologize.

why aren't things right?
why do you have to be such a noble bastard
and deny me
the self-sacrificing ways to which I am accustomed?

I would make my pyre
out of
y o u
and not shed a tear
should flames lick my skin
as long as
y o u
had lit the fire.

i apologize.

I let myself be angry,
and last night
I finally let myself
be sad.

I finally cried for that loss,
and sisters handed me a welcome shot
to ease the passing of sorrow.

I will be sad,
for I know you are,
and it's okay for a time.
I will be alright
and you are strong enough to be as well.

Should you happen
to whisper an apology to me again,
know in that moment
you've been forgiven for a long time.

fuck you.
how dare you say that
i am amazing, that
you love spending time with me.

how dare you.

how dare you say these things
and do the very thing that
contradicts your words,
as if you hadn't been doing so already.

i wrote you words.
they are yours.

and you cannot manage the effort to care?

you are not as mature
as i thought earlier this year,
i suppose.

i want to be truly angry,
and rage,
but i believe too much
in being your friend
to destroy.

(there's still a little part of me
that thinks you'll come back.
i don't know if you want to,
but i know you were the only man
in four years
to make a move on me
while sober.
and now you took it back.)

Where do we stand?
I don't know.
I feel like I'm falling,
or ground is crumbling,
but you are the one
who ripped the rug out.

Am I yours?
You seemed to say no,
and then walk yourself back
from that precipice
I didn't know I was standing on.

I suppose,
it would be wisest
to warm an iron in the fire
and press it to my heart,
If I am wrong about your thoughts,
I can always discard that burned
but now un-wounded skin later.

Why am I left frustrated
day after day?
I don't know what the solution is,
only that it continues to escape.