Some days I woke up and got out of bed and brushed my teeth like any normal human being; some days I woke up and lay in bed and looked at the ceiling and wondered what the hell the point was of getting out of bed and brushing my teeth like any normal human being.
so in my spanish class the teacher sometimes puts up a sign that says “no ingles” and that means we can’t use any english that day in class and we have like the smartest kid who is class president and the teacher asked him something and he was about to talk in english before the teacher pointed at the sign so the guy busted out in full german and the whole class was in stunned silence and the teacher just gave a heavy sigh and left the room
To the boy I used to love: I am adjusting to the spaces
you left behind, the emptiness that beats in me like the
muffled drone of catechisms or a Catholic’s last rites.
Your name tastes like the medicine I took as a child to
keep my lungs from filling with fluid. My knees are bruised
from all the praying I’ve been doing of late. Tell me, love, do
you miss me yet? You can’t be entered by another human
being without sustaining damage, you know. You taught me
that. Someday soon my answer to the question, “How are
you?” will be genuine. I’m good. I’m great. I’ve scrubbed my
skin raw. Your promises were weeds in my nail bed. 150 days,
I’m still picking at my cuticles like there’s some hidden treasure
I’m bound to find. I am changing the locks to my back door. My
front door is always open, but listen, you will have to knock. I
will not be home. Leave a note. Etch your calling card above
the threshold, scrawl your name along the doorframe. I’ve left
the lipstick out for you. I’ve found it works nearly as well as a
ballpoint pen. The last words you ever said to me: “Thank you.”
I’ve never been good at saying goodbye. This is the last poem
I’ll write about you.