thirty-one

god,
i fucking hate you.

(and it feels really good
to be able to say that.)

every time we talk
i feel like a waste of air
i hate that you make me feel like that
i hate that this isn't fun anymore

(i hate that i can't even go into detail
because you'll know it's about you
and you'll get upset.)

but i'll say it anyway:
it's those little pauses that kill me
every millisecond further concluding my doom
"YOU ARE A TERRIBLY BORING PERSON,"
they say,
spitting at me in all of their silent brooding.
and it's every "yeah" that just doesn't quite cut it
every time i realize that you like me
less and less and less
i feel like i'm waiting for the bomb to drop
when i know that it's more of a small sort of torture
that drip drip drip drip drip right on your forehead
until you
finally
just
break

i'm tired of feeling like you don't want to hear me
i'm tired of all these bullshit games! why can't we just talk
and i talk and then you talk and we fucking conversate
why does everything have to be about
you worrying i don't care or
me worrying you don't care
maybe we both don't care
but it seems like most of the time, people don't give a shit anyway
they just need to feel like there's something happening

i hate that everything is so god damned colossal
i didn't ask for anything epic
i just wanted someone to talk to
to feel like i could be myself around
to feel wanted

and you can say you like who i am all you want
but i know that what you want
are those first two weeks again
when i was what i seemed to be
and everything made sense.

look at me:
i'm such a coward

i could never say this to your face

thirty

i am too lazy
to even say that i don't care anymore.
no, this is beyond apathy.

this is sloppy nonchalance.
when i take you to your table,
i don't give a fuck how you are
and i think it's funny
when you care so much about where you're sitting
to ask for another table
five
different
times.

i don't care what i'm wearing
or if my hair looks good
or if my teeth are shiny white
i don't even care
if i get fired
i have another job anyway.

customer service jobs
are a joke.

twenty-nine

on these nights of nothingness
when i am stuck in all of my own emptiness
i hide away in this room
and take pictures.

sometimes i try and see my things
in new ways
because i wish they could become
some other world
to take me far away
from here

and i turn up my music
and i fall into some novel
turning pages and mind until
the book is set aside
the light clicks off
i drift into dreams
wishing away the evening

i think of all of those
who are very far away from me
that could fill my days and myself
and if they came home
maybe i wouldn't feel like such a stranger
in my own room
and if they were here
i wouldn't care whether or not you called

twenty-eight

when i die,
i won't go to heaven
i'll go to boone
for eternity.

because how could i want anything more
than those mountains?
hazy blue in the distance
but that green gold up close
so much more than i remembered
so much more than i hoped for
and the sky that makes me want to stretch out my arms
and touch all of it, everything around me
inside of me
and the sunsets that make my jaw drop
as i walk and walk
just so i can get a better look
just so i can feel it
just so i can hold on to it because it's
fading
so
fast

and every fading dream from memory
every moment slipping further
cannot compare to the bliss
of trodding through tall grasses
reaching high into trees that cradle
and lie on the cool ground just to see the sky
when that blue was all i could see i knew
that's all i'd ever need

and in all of its splendor it still feels like home
because its more than a place
its every kind word and every good thought
its every inch of sacrifice and humility
those mountains are my soul, sprawled out
in completion of my potential

twenty-seven

lightness and weight
soul and body
you and you and you and you
are so
unbearable.

but only because
i can't bear the thought of you being
gone