souvenir

i think we are window shopping because
i don’t have much to offer and
you might not want to remember this place
after we leave it
i bought you a snow-globe of us in the rain
you shake it to be transported when i’m not there

and every grasp of your hand
every kiss
every text message at dusk when i’m supposed to be busy
every poem
is a way of saying,
i don’t want to be just a souvenir this time 

 

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bitter.

i don’t like the way my nickname sounds on your lips

and maybe it’s because i haven’t forgiven you yet–

i’m bitter about what happened; i’m bitter about corruption

about white lies i was too young to decipher–

i think, you carry a little of my soul around with you

and, i can hear past memories being unraveled in my chest

when you say my name casually

and when you look at me across the room

the day will come where i can look at you and assuredly say i am unaffected by you

 

 

 

 

kind of person

you’re the kind of person who i want to hear on the regular

the kind i change the radio stations constantly for

and the kind who listens to beach reggae

but changes it for me because i love soft indie

and the kind who treats me right because you think i’m special

and laugh at me when i try to convince you i’m not

(that’s the kind of person i fall in love with more and more) 

i love you (not right)

they bought you flowers, chocolates, and gave                               
the normal simplistic love you wanted                              
and they say, i love you                                        
 
but darling, they never loved you right                              
and never gave you the love you needed.

river

tragic, isn’t it?
boy you’re on the other side
and this river is too wide

since the current came and took you
nothing has been right
my days never turn into night soon enough

can you even hear me?
i need you to be here; i’m lost
i need you hear; i’m in too deep

this is what drowning feels like