we live in a world of apologies.
I made a mistake a year back,
choosing my addiction to oxygen
over less demanding things.
I’m sick of trembling for problems
that aren’t mine and I’m sick of trying
to romanticize black holes and
the indiscriminate nature of lithium and
I’m sick of waking up every morning
feeling sick. and truly, I’m sorry
but I’m not ready to accept my role
in the making of myself. I’m not ready
to lament for those with a smaller
pain tolerance, and for my dislike
of anything that requires commitment.
I’m sorry I miss you and I’m sorry
I won’t admit that out loud.
how scary is it to be something
so unalterably heavy, to be diagnosed
as your own worst enemy, but god,
you’re so fucking beautiful,
and not in the stereotypical boy
meets girl meets fairytale way, but
the kind that makes my heart
bleed a million miles quicker.
I just wanted to cry on all
your scars and wash them clean.
when things are bad for so long,
everything’s an answer. I’ve developed
an unkind predisposition to all items
toxic, but goddamn, every song
by Nirvana understands me so well.
I would’ve loved you more if
you had hated me. but now, here
I am, recreating you in verses
on my wrists. all things
are in a constant state of recreation;
in a year, I will be reborn, but
I’ll still tremble when I’m made to wake up,
I’ll still reference you in poems
I shouldn’t write.