I Write Letters That Never Get Written Back.

fingertips

my fingertips barely touch the surface of the mirror, in what reflects my most vivid of dreams. to be loved, touched like I’m a secret that’s meant to be told, and a reflection that’s seen but never meant to be shown.

i imagine what it feels to be admired, to match an energy so surreal my dreams can’t even begin to create a scene so magical. so what is it? will i ever be loved, respected, praised, or celebrated?

my fingertips have calluses from wrists bruised with scars deeper than stains. calluses so thick I can’t feel what I want to, and I don’t know how to react. to myself, to the world, and to anything at all.

so I shout, and I scream. and no one hears anything. maybe one day, I’ll be able to finally feel something.

i keep crying

i keep crying at the littlest things, and i cry that i do that to myself. i let every little thing tear me down and break me until i feel like i'm worth nothing. but who do i have if i keep making these walls so my feelings don't get hurt. who do i have if i can't let myself experience anything?

i don't know. who DO i have? if i can't even believe in myself or anyone to not make me cry. and then again it's all me, always me and my feelings that i feel too heavily.

Whenever I wait for you

whenever I wait for you, you never show. whenever you say you wanted to talk, you never ask.

whenever I asked for you to be there, you never came.

whenever I gave you a gift, I never got one. whenever I made time for you, you were too busy.

and maybe— i do this to myself because i hate myself. maybe i'm just meant to be unloved by people i want to love me. maybe i just overthink every little thing, and at the end of it all i'm just not meant to be with you.

i wait

i wait by the mailbox everyday, hoping, wishing, that maybe a letter will show up. a letter professing their love back to me, their appreciation of my existence. maybe, just maybe, it's all in my head. how i'm not meant to be here. how i'm not worthy enough of being loved. of how their blank stares are just words of judgement of how i'm so much better off without them. and yeah, maybe theyre right. i am better off without them. but somehow i just can't let go. maybe, i'm used to the thorns on the stem of the flowers they give me. the dead, burnt, crisp, flowers.

I walk underneath your shadow

no matter where I walk it's under your shadow. right beneath yours, intertwined. I don't know whether to be grateful or not. whether or not it's something I need. but on days where I need your shadow to keep me away from the sun, you walk a little farther, never there when I need it most. these days it seems that through distance, as you walk each step a little faster and farther, I can no longer feel your warmth. and your shadow has been making me feel colder. so maybe it's time to just stop moving and let your shadow walk alone. because I think I'm ready for this shadow to finally be my own.

my wrists are tinier than the size of a water bottle, veins peering blue and green as they wrap around what so little of what holds me together.

they hold scars on them, deep and some that are fading.

so I wear long sleeves, on days where the sun blasts and burns my cheeks red and tan.

my scars sometimes glisten when my palms brush against the steel strings of a brown stained guitar. and it tingles like the lines on the calluses of my fingertips.

hands that have seen so much greif. elbows protruded with bones that are sharp as knives.

with the gust of the wind, I could break. and I pray for that everyday.

I had assumed

My bad— I had assumed we were closer than I thought we were. nights holding hands as the cold air crisped our noses, tears running down my face, arms intertwined, and your jacket on my shoulders.

I’m sorry— I had assumed we were close. nights crying on the phone until the sun rose to remind us to go back to bed. nights on the bench crying until 3am because he dumped you for another athlete.

I fear— I’ve assumed we were close. days sitting on the grass unveiling our fears that we’ve never told anyone else. laughing until we told ourselves it’s not worth it to k-ll ourselves right now.

I didn’t know— we weren’t as close as you said we were. And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch myself sooner.

I miss you like

I miss you like the moon misses the waves of the shore, lingering to bring it closer to its halo.

But you miss me like a shooting star in the sky on the brightest night in the city.

I’ve missed you like a dwarf planet yearning to be pulled back in its sun’s orbit.

But you miss me like a summer breeze on the hottest day in July.

It’s not the same, and it may never be. It’s never enough, and I blame myself for it. I hate myself most for longing to be missed by you like winter’s first snowfall.

I believe in you! And unicorns, but mostly you! Just wanted to send you a smile today :)

Thank you lovely!

he loves you more than you know

i can tell, and maybe I shouldn't spell it out. speak what's so blatant. it's true honestly— this dance that could gravitate towards the middle of any ballroom. the eyes that never leave one another, the arms that stay constantly intertwined. and i hate that i was so blind, i hate myself for being so naively blind. and i hate that i let myself think i could even get between that. i'm not special. i'm not the person you call when you fall. it's him, and it will always be him. and i'll never be the man you need me to be. do you know he loves you more than you know? i saw him kiss you on a tuesday afternoon, and i knew, i just knew— what you didn't want to speak into existence. unfortunately— i'm gentle, soft, quiet, and i will never be half of what he is. so i'll stop here, i'll stop being strung along by you. i love you, but maybe, never as much as him.