Hold on let me look in my bag and see if I can find a fuck I give.
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Every time someone comes at me without the bravery of using their actual identity, my internet connection speeds up by 10 mbps.
It is hard to keep trying to fix something convinced it is not broken. It is hard to love a heart that is not always open.
The best part about this city is that it is so big, you can break my heart in it and never have to worry about seeing me on your morning train.
I’m sorry I called myself a dog. I’m not sorry I called you a coward.
I’m sorry for the poems. All the shouting I did about your mouth.
We outgrew each other in angry uncoordinated ways.
I’m so sick of reducing lovers to lessons. How to let go. How to stay. How to ask for what the heart wants.
You’re not my biggest heartbreak anymore. What a delicate relief to both of us.
I slept incredibly well before I met you.
I’m twenty-three and I still don’t own my own dishes. Last month, I lived entirely off of paper plates. Say you’ll come home with me anyway.
My heart looks like a bruise and I almost don't mind.
My love is a pair of scissors I keep begging you not to run with.
I want to kiss you and feel like I am growing.
I know I deserve a love that won’t make me wait but I was so good at waiting for you.
I can’t remember why we stopped writing love letters and started crying drunkenly into the phone.
i like to tell myself that i wasn’t really in love with you but even on the months i forget to pay my credit card bills, i still remember to check your horoscope.
I said I’d never write another poem about you, but everything is a metaphor for the way that we left each other. Birds flying south for the winter. Rivers running to the sea. The moon stuck struggling in its orbit and never really going anywhere at all.
I still remember you as a little girl who overwaters plants because she doesn’t know when to stop giving.
I just want to leave your name on a page somewhere and never need to come back to it.