A Fuckboy and A Failed “I Love You Too”

Get high with
your supposed to be boyfriend.

Realize he's an a*****e
as he ignores you for
3 hours playing on his phone
while texting his actual boyfriend.

Realize you don't love anyone,
(not even yourself)
as you sit in a McDonalds parking lot
for those 3 hours
writing someone else's
name on the foggy window.

Realize you like writing
in pen because it's more
permanent than you'll ever be.

Realize you can't tell anyone
your dream occupation
because they call author and failure
in the same hand.

Just because my hero is Allen Ginsberg doesn’t mean I'll grow up to be like him.

Tons of people love Superman
but none of them can fly.

I would love you like villain to kryptonite,
but that doesn't mean I can have you.

He says he loves me
But he only loves my physical.
He will never listen to
the hollow echo as he
knocks on me at night.
His ears are not tuned
to the belly flop
of my "I love you too" �"

"too" because I'd
be “too” much
of a liar if I said it first.

He wonders why I whisper
to him in Cherokee.

It's so I can pronounce
the last syllable wrong
and the foundation of
the word crumbles, breaking
So I can whisper sweet
nothings in his ear and
it still sounds sincere
because he never
noticed me choking on
the syllables

Because he is still deaf to
the dead pang of the words
as they fall and shatter
around us.

My words are counterfeit
and he still doesn't
see the light catch
false fog scented lies falling
from my ugly mouth like stones
slipping out of child’s hands
disrupting the stillness of a puddle.

My tears spell out "liar"
in my dreamt up
daughter’s running mascara
and he is still
blind.

He keeps saying
that I've
been "quiet"
He doesn’t know
if I opened my mouth
my entire being would
spill out and he'd see
all of the disguises.

I am made up of empty truths and
stuffed to the brim lies.
And if he could /really/ look into my eyes
I'm sure he'd be able to hear
the heavy echo of my mind screaming
someone else's name
as my body screams his.
But for now,
my little moans
cover the emptiness
and clearing my
throat will have to do
for covering the false
"love you too”
And the poorly lit room
will just have to work.
If he saw my eyes
screaming "I don’t love you anymore too”
He'd never want to catch up to me
while running towards fading light.

Paint me as a bad man,
And I will paint
the night sky for myself.
Because these stars
are only for those
who are damned tonight
with house blues lies and
pop choruses of truth �"

Damn, even the radio mocks us tonight.

Reviews

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if this poem isn't a mood i dont know what is.