blame game

hanging on to a thread 

that i created,

lowering myself into the pits

that i lit the fire to.

it’s a game of how much damage

i can cause and how much blame 

i’ll take for it.

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pieces of you

i find myself doing what he does

because it reminds me of when his arms were around me,

and his fingers were interlocked with mine.

i cannot refrain from mimicking the small beauties of his ways,

they are a part of me now,

a part of me i don’t ever want to lose.

i find myself laughing like he does,

asking like he does,

and it’s as comforting as a drawn out hug of his,

the one where i wrap my arms around to the small of his back and

press my face to his chest and feel his heart beat.

i find myself wanting to be where he is,

but i can’t be too selfish with his time and presence so i keep his

ways wrapped up in mine and i’ve found that it keeps him close.

i don’t know

“my heart is beating fast,” a statement.

“why?” an impossible question.

i could try explaining.

first, i’ll say because i was nervous.

“wait, no,” i’ll hesitate and furrow my brows, looking for a more accurate word.

then,

i’ll correct myself, a moment of triumph as i slurp back the word hanging from the tip of my tongue.

but somehow, in the swirl of my mind,

i’ll feel as if i only gave you a glimpse into the depth of that emotion.

i wasn’t just a synonym for nervous,

i was also hesitant

and oddly excited

and overwhelmed

and… and,

and.

if i knew the words, i’d tell you.

so i’ll make it simple,

“my heart is beating fast,” a statement.

“why?” an impossible question.


“i don’t know,”

the most unsatisfying confession.

 

it’s time to heal.

i need to stop reading

some of my poetry because

what people don’t understand is that the words

typed or written on those pieces of paper

have the power to transport you

back to those moments that you just

want to forget about

or heal from.