she was jazz, i was rock n rollfor kitten; she had stars on her tongue.More Like This
you like to separate yourself from things.
you pull apart from what you fear, but
you don't call it running away. what
do you call it?
you play things off as if they don't matter,
but i know how you sometimes lie in bed
at maybe one am (remember when we stayed up late?)
and you would think.
what would you think about? i don't know.
i wish it was about us.
i wrote you poetry
even when my coffee ran cold,
i doodled your name over and over again
until it could become just a word
and not a feeling;
i like to say i love you
maybe a little too much.
can i rip off your smile
and hold you? you don't know
how much it hurts
for me to know
or maybe you do.
you always knew
about those things.
we could end each others sentences,
had dreams of children even though
we both knew that was impossible.
was i just a person on the other side
of your phone's screen? someone
that made the glow of our text messages
i miss you. am i allowed
you ate the stars and i ate my heart.this is how i wasMore Like This
fell in love with a boy
with razor sharp
teeth and a
poet's heart. it's really a
pretty kind of thing.
using his borrowed
tongue, he took me in like a
four a.m cigarette (slowly, and
with loneliness in every one of his
joints). we both thought
that enough smoke
would fill in the cracks in our
rib cages; we were both
he told me that he would
like to be a
planet: "all that open
space, all those dying
stars. it would give me room to
instead of telling him that
there is no oxygen in
outer space, i
watched him feel his lungs
implode. it broke my
bones to witness it; but it's really a
dreadfully pretty thing to