They will never know our struggle
They will never know how to empathize
With our extreme abundance of feelings
We have so many words living on our tongue that sometimes
We almost choke trying to swallow them down
Therefore
We are constantly spitting them on to paper
And our journal entries look more like convulsions made by spasms of the hand
Than they do legible anything
But that's alright
We keep our heart in a metal flask
Open just enough to let the air seep in
Ready at all times to pour it out to anyone with open hands
Sometimes to the point of emptiness
Too many times do we leave ourselves with nothing
Having given so much of us to someone
Caution is not something we proceed with
Rather
Speed and recklessness
Blind optimism with eager motion
We are not capable of waiting
We are the ones who romanticize too soon
Fantasize in the most unsettling ways
We are the antagonists of our own stories
Yet we seem to always be searching for a happy ending
We are the wide eyed wanderers
The shy bodies built with open arms
Now and then
Love poems will escape from our fingertips
Never to reach their destination
Our memories are books we reread over and over again
Films that we replay just to remind us how it felt to feel
Our senses our heightened to the point where touch
Becomes crucial
And emotions
Become visible
We are the people
That you do not want to fall in love with
Because once we do
We will never
Fall out.

I always come back
Regardless of what I do
I return to you

I wonder if I'm on your mind tonight more than I probably am
My eyes move between phone and computer screen seeking your name
My ears are perched to their highest capability
My mouth tastes of blood from the lip I've bitten in your honor and
all I can do is wonder where you are tonight and if you're wondering about me too

Someday you're going to read all of the things I wrote about you.
All of the times when I missed you.
That every tick of the clock I've thought of you,
While I cried because I can't control my emotions.
All of the memories I have with you.
Probably you won't remember but for me it really matters.
And that all my feelings will be revealed to you but I guess you don't care.
And lastly, you will realize how much I love you.
It sounds funny and all because,
By that time, I've moved on.

I can spit out words in a matter of seconds
I can twist my thoughts into metaphors and anaphora and all this rhetoric they taught me,
they said it would make my argument stronger,
that it would make me a better writer
well
here I am,
am I?

I can do it all
I can make pain taste like sugar, granulate it so finely to where it melts on the tongue
I can cope my problems into understanding, make feeling alone no longer a possibility
I can even create something similar to hope with the way I form these phrases together
I can almost do it all, but
I cannot write you into my arms
I cannot place you in this bed next to me

I often wring passion into language, this pouring out becomes exhausting and
It doesn't matter how many times I rewrite this poem
Poems don't make people fall in love
People make people fall in love
I wish
I could make you fall in love but
I am not one of those who can

I've learned it doesn't matter how nice these titles are,
the stanzas, the formatting, the content is not important
Whether or not I bury my soul into the center is irrelevant when
you are currently the only thing living inside of it
Every time I pick up a pen or
a pencil or a page I hear you
My head has become a blank thesaurus, everything sounds like your arms holding
I search for inspiration and your name is all I can find
I want to say the same goes for you with mine but
that would be a lie more than
anything else

I guess that's what writing is more than anything else
deceit, fabrication, myth, romanticization
a reflection of everything we know to be false drawn into something it's not
I have been trying to scribe my way into your heart but
it's clear that I cannot let myself in without invitation
the welcome mat means nothing if it goes unread and
as much as I would like to get a call from you tonight,
it would be silly to wait up for fiction
I thought the rhetoric I've learned would help me feel better
I thought writing this might take away the aching, make me happier
well
here I am,
am I?