dear [insertnamehere],
iwantyoutowantme;
it used to be that easy.
sure, its a bit of a cliche, but everything i want seems
unoriginal now. now i'm tumbling over simplicity and
rewording my innocence so maybe i'll be good enough
for someone. but it seems no matter how hard i try,
i refuse to glide over my pride and stomp on sand castles,
because i will never fully give up on you until my knees
are skidded enough from falling from your pedestal.
--
don't push me away because you're too wound up in your own
concrete emotions. all i've ever done is drowned within your
staggering dignity, while your tears crash into the palms of my
hand like hail impaling my veins. i guess i haven't really stopped
to think about the effect your suffocation has on my own lungs,
strangling uneven breaths from my swollen throat. i know i've
struggled with metaphors and similes while picking sunflowers
in a field of thorns, but would it kill you to recognize i'm doing
this all for you?
--
but like you said, it's no big deal.
--
you know what? fuck you.
fuck you for allowing me to collapse under false accusations
or for completely tearing the ground out from under me. it's
not like i did anything but be there for you, even though your
fingertips were digging into my hip bone, searching for a
part of me worth keeping. fuck you for condemning the air
i breathe, just so you could bathe in seclusion and tip your
sunglasses to an angle where i was only useful when you
needed to release your anger. you're a bit pitiful, in a matter
of speaking. here i am, arms wide open, accepting you for
you, and cleansing you with 'you'resomuchbetterthanthis'.
but i must be speaking to a mirror, for the words just
ricochet so frequently right back into my questioning.
---
'i just want to be accepted for who i am,' you told me, hands
fidgeting in your lap. i stared at you for a minute. you have
no fucking idea how much i just wanted to fall at your feet and
beg for you to take me as yours, that i have never treated your
flaws as a reason to hate you.
but i brushed your hair back with my hand, and simply said;
'you'll find her. i promise.'
you told me not to make a promise i can't keep.
i half-way smiled, and told you the same.
we haven't spoken about it since.
---
you refuse to lay and look at the stars with me, because
you're afraid you might find yourself. you refuse to play
tic-tac-toe, because i might beat you at something.
there's no point.
i don't want to try with you anymore.
you're a beautiful disaster who writes regrets on his arms.
you're a telepathic rollercoaster, making my stomach swirl
in circles and collide into unexpected situations. but my bones
are brittle, and my muscles are no longer contracting
the strength they used to. but ice-sculpture dreams and never-
ending condolences of 'it'sgoingtobeokay's are slowly blackening
my tonsils.
my honesty seems useless now.
i've held myself back from screaming useless apologies in your face.
i've zippered my lips shut from ever showing you the meaning of love.
and i'm tired of falling apart and having to announce that you did this
to me over and over and over again.
--
i guess when you told me that you cared, it was only temporary,
for my blood is cold, and i feel no comfort when you're in my
presence like i once used to.
remember when you told me you broke down and felt meaningless
to the world and everything that you were surrounded with? that
no matter how much rum you consumed between blaming yourself
and crying yourself to sleep, it would never amount to how much
you've been hurt, when all you've done is tossed your heart into a
garage sale bin, hoping someone might come across it and carefully
stitch it back together?
you've only made me feel that way a numerous amount
of times that not even a scientific calculator could compute.
but it's no big deal;
right?
Honorable mention
Silver trophy winner
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