An Open Letter To A Closed Addiction

Everything about me

makes me long for you,

and every long day

makes me miss those fleeting moments

we shared together.

Every tear I shed

reminds me

of the ones you wiped from my face

and as the pain gets a little worse

I try not to remember

how you made it better.

Every word I write

is pushing you away

so for now

I’ll be the one thats new

and you can be weathered.

 

Hiding The Truth From Even Ourselves

Hey, how have you been?

(I’ve missed you)

I’ve been good.

(I’m a mess)

Yeah, It’s been awhile.

(I’ve thought about you everyday)

What are you doing these days?

(Tell me you haven’t moved on)

Oh, that’s great.

(Fuck)

Me? Yeah, nothing serious though.

(No, not since you)

Yeah, it was good to see you too.

(Don’t Go)

There Is No Wrong Answer Unless That Answer Is That There Are Wrong Answers

You know that feeling you get,

the one in math class when you’re solving problems

and the answers are coming so easily to you

that you have to stop and think,

“I must be doing this wrong.”?

 

Yeah that one.

 

Thats exactly how I feel

every time I finish a poem,

but then I remember that writing is subjective

and there really isn’t a right or wrong way to do it.

 

YoU CAn WritE AnYTHinG aNd aNyWAy yOU WanT.

 

No one can tell you it’s wrong because it will always be right to someone

even if thats just you.

 

Too Much To Say And Too Little Time

I have found, that my problem is

 

I always have too much to say.

A shortage or time

and an excess of words.

 

I wonder if its really just that silence

can speak louder

and hold more meaning

 

because someone lost in thought,

liberated from their own voice,

can not only see what they’re thinking

 

they can feel it.