Obsolescence

I know how it feels to give so much of yourself so openly to somebody who cast you aside and smashed you to pieces… I know you feel as though you are an ugly wreckage, broken beyond all repair but I’m here to tell you that you’re not. You are beautiful, you are brave… and you will heal.

To think that sometimes poetry is just rejected love letters shared to the world, because they couldn’t touch the heart of the one that mattered.

I haven’t brushed my hair in weeks so tonight my mother sat me down and ran a comb through the knows honey, she sighs you have to get better at taking care of yourself I’ve heard that keeping flowers after they’ve died is bad luck but they never tell you what to do with the heart rotting in your chest the smell is starting to alarm the neighbors they stand outside my window chanting something must be done something must be done I pull the flowers out of my closet and shove them to the bottom of the dumpster my hand comes out with bits of trash clinging to it but this is just my way of showing I’m trying to get better. I still drink more wine than water but I’ve started to look at my veins without wondering what they would look like split open and I think that’s what my shrink calls progress my sister gave me a stuffed animal of my greatest fear as a joke but I don’t think it’s funny that I sleep with it every night hold it to my chest like it’s salvation instead of damnation I welcome monsters into my bed and set a place for them at breakfast leave sugar out for their coffee goddamn I’ve always been so good at loving monsters. The last boy I kissed meant nothing to me but the last one in my bed is haunting me I threw out the shirt I was wearing when I first met him even though it was my father’s and any coffee mugs his lips touched are cracked in my trash The last time I talked to him I said I just want to be the one you love best and he cried because I wasn’t. I wish the pictures on my wall could talk, that girl looks so happy speak to me speak to me the night is so quiet I’m too fucking sentimental these poems are getting me nowhere how many pens have met their end while I try to explain this how many notebooks have been destroyed while I try to bury this- I wallpaper my room with my efforts and swallow the fragments they glitter like crystal and scrape my throat the whole way down and still, the only way I can fall asleep is underneath a world map dreaming of places far enough away that my heart forgets yours is beating too.