tell me what you thought about when you were gone…

i’m the original grass

that wasn’t green enough

and i don’t understand

why you’re singing

one of my favorite songs

but you’re still sleeping

away from home

two nights a week

i’m not the one

and you’re never in love

i’m never honest

and she’ll never be enough

every other line

is a lie

and i’m still broken

still in love

with a backpack full

of bricks

waiting for you

and i to lay them down

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Painfully aware
of the shape of my own face,
as I squinted to avoid
the heat of the sun
and I thought I could see
better beyond the curve,
just as I thought the wall
would protect me from the wind
blowing in the wrong direction.
Maybe there’s a metaphor here,
if you find it
you’re more poetic than I
because I was only being literal.

in remembrance of something that never happened

i hope someday i will forget
to read your poems
stop wondering if you’re wondering
about me as you sit awake
in front of your keyboard
the harsh glow of the screen
keeping your mind awake, but not alert

my poems are verses from an autobiography
but yours read like fiction from a magazine
my poems mostly have no form,
but yours are too damn calculated
how can i crave someone i’ve never met?
i admit that i lie, but sometimes i feel
like maybe i’m the only one being honest