I was supposed to be a writer who wrote about the things she experienced, the things that happened to me, but I never wrote about how we only ever kissed goodbye if we ******, a reward for passing it back and forth, otherwise it was only a side hug and a wink and maybe you only gave me the honor of a goodbye kiss because you thought it’d make you a ***** to not, and it would have, although you were still a ***** either way because you told me, an inch and a half taller than you and at this time at least a few lbs heavier (not anymore, I got a gym membership) that when dating girls you only liked ones you could pick up. look how light I am now! you winked from the side and I walked out to my car that decided not to start again (she hated you) and I didn’t believe I could ask you to jump it even though I had just been inside you, so I called an Uber and tried again the next day and she started just fine, because you weren’t home. the first time we ever hung out she got her windows smashed outside the bar, nothing taken, $1066.39 later my ‘91 Volvo had four replacement windows, third time we hung out she didn’t start, new battery and alternator $1856.10, fifth or sixth or seventh time I was one of 4 drooling ******* at one of your ******* shows, I believed I was different though because I wasn’t just one of your *******, I was your friend too. or first. *******. this night I was only your friend because you went home with the number 1 ***** instead of me, the number 4, so I drove myself to the next spot that I attended as well because again, I was also your friend, but more so I was your friends friend and they told me to go, but I popped my tire on the way. $88.96 the next hungover morning at pepboys, thank god. I ditched my car and called a car there because I could not miss any opportunity. you made a comment about how loud I was in bed this night, in front of everyone, not even true but I loved it nonetheless because now I was real! it was real! I was so naive. *** is just ***, anyone can have it, you never took me seriously. the bar closed and you left with a girl, 5’3” and 110 lbs soaking wet, I watched as you opened your truck door for her, picked her up and put her inside.

that coffee gave me a headache and I don't have any sunglasses or ****. this isn't a poem. I should go back inside.

Today just isn't that day.

it hurts more to not
it has to

I’ve sat with this screen open at least a dozen times in the last few days (like I used to) but the only thing I’ve managed to get out is the words I miss you written over and over again

he reaches one arm stretched underneath
my neck and the other he drapes loosely around my shoulder, meeting his hands in the middle and effectively holding me
his chin digs into the curve of my spine and his breathing is shallow, as in if I turn to grab something I will wake him up so

I don’t move. I hold my breath, I listen to his dog whine, I gather all of the questions I have that I’ll forget by the morning,
I should be writing a lot about the first man I’ve ever loved but all I can think to say is
this is not me
I do not write happy poetry

I love to write about people that can’t be bothered to pick up my phone calls