johnnacheyenne

When I first heard he loved you, I knew it was true,
knew that my bruised knees and blue eyes and blurred oceans
were not enough for him. And maybe you were.
I knew it was true that beauty couldn’t buy love,
but I put on more blush. But I hated you. But I laid in bed at night at willed your teeth to rot.
I compared the size of our guts, and our hair, and our luck. But the sun set
and I went down with it.

In the mornings I would wake up uglier,
and you would wake up in his bed. I love to suffer.
I would picture your kisses in my head, make up pet names, wake up dead.
In the mornings you would be at home and he would be happy.

For months, I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t love me.
The calculations were so
ungodly. I’ve seen all the movies. I have short skirts and glitter,
“but he chose her.
He chose her.”
And I’m sorry, but by all rules of science that doesn’t make sense.
I felt your presence in the shower, in my morning coffee,
in the moments of silence to mourn solders and dead men.

Dead bugs circled the drain,
it rained every day for three weeks straight.
I started baking cookies and I tried to change my name.
When he called me, I could hear your heavy breathing in the background.
And I’m sorry.

For months I was so angry. I grew crystals on my kitchen counter
just to crush them. I told my mom that I had a new boyfriend.
I drank to get sick to have an excuse to stay in bed all day Sunday,
and sometimes Monday too. I hated you. I hated him.
I hated my thin fingers and holding my own hands.
For months I played the victim. But you woke up wrapped around him
and I woke up in my own head, a vomit stained bed, a sickness.

I’m sorry.

The truth is,
you are beautiful. And I am beautiful too.
And he wanted you. And that’s fine. I can’t hate you for having what I want to be mine.
I can’t hate him for loving. I can’t blame fate or time.
The truth is that sometimes, love just isn’t right.

And I love him. I love you. I love the way it feels
to apologize. I wake up in the morning,
and paint. The truth is, you deserve him. And I deserve these weeks alone
to work on curbing my envy. To work on waking up happy.

My friends tell me he’s a wild card: to warn you
He’ll Hurt You Too,
and maybe that’s true. But I’m sorry. I don’t wish that for you.

There are rows of dead things in my garden.
Tomorrow,
I think I’ll replant them.

Letter For The Girl He Loves More Than Me; Hannah Beth Ragland  (via allmymetaphors)
dannydekeyser
When he says
He doesn’t love you anymore,
Roll your shoulders back
And look him in the eye
Even when it feels like your ribs
Are breaking inward, like spider legs.
When he digs up old aches
That he swore he forgave you for,
Smile
And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner.
Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper
Running all the way up your throat to your mouth.
When he blames you
For mistakes that wear his face,
Do not scream.
Do not cry.
Tell him that there are boys
Who would be proud to say they’d loved you.
Tell him that in two years
You won’t even remember his name
And don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie.
When he leaves
Ignore the howling in your blood
And do not get up after him.
Not even to lock the door.
Do not, do not
Do not.
Smell his shirts when you box them up
To give them back.
Not one.
Swear off dating when you realize
You’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile.
It’s okay to cry over him.
It’s even okay to forgive him.
But do not go back to him.
If he did not know how to love you the first time,
He won’t know how to do it the next.
How To Pretend It Doesn’t Hurt, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
hislittleteacup
Wake me up at 3am just to tell me that I’m not close enough. Wake me again at 7am because we need to get ready for the day. Once more at 7:15 because we both know I don’t do mornings. Tell me about the dream you had last night while we have toast and orange juice. I’m tired as hell but I hear and feel every single word that you say. Ask me how I slept because you feel like you’ve been talking for too long. My answer is always the same when you ask, sleeping next to you is heavenly. Apologize for waking me up at 3 while I assure you that it’s okay and that I’m so glad that you did, then rally in your stubborn persistence the notion that it was out of line. Start explaining how wrong it was. You won’t get very far into your rant because I need to kiss you. Not only to stop you from being ridiculous but because I love you so much more than I can express with words. So please, wake me up at 3am so I can pull you closer and kiss you softly. “I love you endlessly” will be my sleepy response each time; as those four words are the only ones that can even come close to explaining my feelings for you.
inwove

miss-grace:

Are you ever just overwhelmed by the horrifying thought that maybe, nobody ACTUALLY wants you around? And it’s not that you think everyone hates you, but it’s just that you’re not special to anyone? And that its really kind of sucky that you’re about 98% sure that nobody thinks “Wow, I just really like talking to her.” and that you could probably just disappear without anyone caring that much?