inside, i hope you know i'm dying.

one.
i do not know how to write poetry,
yet i spit out angry words.
they come from inside of me.
from inside my soul.


two.
he asks me to breathe for him, just for a while, he promises as he picks at a sunflower from our neighbors garden. 'you love me, you love me not' he knows it is cliche, but we still stare at the flower and wonder,
what
will
it
land
on.
(i do love you. the flower must have been missing a petal.)

three.
she calls me at three fifty-one in the morning, sleep lacing her voice as she whispers,
"i want to talk to you." even though we both know she should be asleep.
i am keeping her safe from insanity,
while she keeps me away from sucide .

four.
i
wish
i
knew
how
or
what
love
is.
i wish late night phone calls and going to the theatre was enough. i was i could stay with him in the garden, but he is too busy smoking a different kind of weed. and i wish i could be with her in her bed, keeping her away from the world.
who. do. i. choose?
[ i've already chosen her]

five.
i spot an airplane in the distance and even though i have never been on one, i wish i could be. even though i have never held her hand, i wish i have. but then i do not because i want those things to be in the future. not yet.
n.o.t.
yet.


six.
i should have stopped on the number five because my ocd will act up. but i do not care.
i listen to the dead air on the phone, waiting for her to fall asleep, and i know, i know.
i could be with her for the rest of my life and that is not so scary anymore.



<3 end