You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.
You’re looking for a poem to tell
you why your heart is broken
into every piece. You’re looking
for someone to compare all the
ways he didn’t love you to a rose
and how even when it turns
black with death, it’s still lovely.
There aren’t words that will
make your phone’s silence
easier, trust me. You’re alone
tonight and he’s probably
thinking about someone else;
there’s nothing poetic about that.
It’s 4 in the morning and I love you more now than I did back in November
I remember the redness of your skin when I dug my nails into your back
and the way you ran your fingertips up my thigh as you whispered “you’re the one”
please tell me how am I supposed to be okay after we promised to love each other forever
I should’ve known, nothing good ever lasts.
I learned that the hard way,
that late night call was the last time I heard your voice