i've been writing to everyone i've ever said i loved. and i loved my hurricane girl, with her photo booth lies and her soft hands. the first one who ever held my heart like a grenade that never kept a pin. she wore it around her neck, she did. i bet she's still got it tucked away somewhere. i never asked her to send it back. she don't call this place home anymore.
sunny boy with his flower petals and matches. his mind got dark quick, it did. got mixed up with black birds and storm drains. four years could never be the same. i bet he still doesn't drive with his hands on the wheel.
the sweet alabama man, shooting guns to music i pretended to care for. i still wonder if he was real or made of wood and nails. some days i wonder if it would have made a difference. he stays away, he does. he knows not to come around here.
my lunch box lover, with his shitty car and the two times he almost killed us inside of it. i would have let him back then. when i saw him two months ago, he was a deer in the headlights. his eyes were still so bright. his friends told me he went missing last year, they still never found him like i did.
and the boy with the blue eyes, never wrong, never on time. with the late night phone calls i pretend i don't answer. the stallion fool with the broken gold.
and in the end, i’m glad i’ve learned how to love and be alone.
a poem for past lovers, a.m.
