from 2014.

I am the hint of purple on your neck
& the bruises on my own knees
I am the crack in your bed frame
& I’m trying not to be a mistake.

You were half smoked cigarettes
I was gasoline on a fire
You said you liked when it rained
I didn’t want to put out the fire.

I pushed the clock handles forward
But you were always trying to hold them back
I was head over heels
But you didn’t want to jump right in.

You confused work and love
& confessed we were trying too hard to change ourselves
I thought that was the point
I thought you made me who I was.

I was ready to stop searching
I think I found myself in pieces I’ve picked up
Some of them have your finger prints
Some of them now have scars.

I am the letters in your bedroom drawer
& the compass you left on my dresser
I might not be as lost as you are
But I still thought you were pointed in my direction.

I am the letter you never sent
& the times you didn’t stay in my bed
I am the moment you left
& I am learning how to accept all of that.