unpack this overflowing bag of a heart and show me what i've forgotten.
what i packed and let fall to the bottom burroughs.
show me how to care. because all i know now is how to shrug my shoulders and move on. 
show me. remind me how i used to hold on, how i used to cry.
unpack this heavy heart so i can remember to not forget. unpack my heart that used to be so fragile.

this loveseat hasn't seen love in quite some time.
to be accurate it's a singlegirlseat.
the closest its cushions get to love is when books get left behind, or when the television glares at its upholstery.
this piece of furniture has the hardest name to live up to. if it never feels the throes of passion or witnesses a shiver, is it stil considered a "love seat"? does it become an elongated arm chair? just a seat? what happens in the absence of love?

and what about me? if i haven't seen love in quite some time, will i ever remember it? if i've let it slip through my fingers before, will i be able to hold on next time?
will there be a next time?
will i ever see love? will i ever be able to bring it home?

With the swipe of an eraser, you can erase history. I never loved him, she was never my best friend. But with the strokes of the pen, you can rewrite it. Make sad stories not so bad - at least for those reading. For those interested. It's not that I loved him and he didn't love me back...we just didn't mesh well together. Actually, it's not that I "loved" him at all - he was the only one there. As a result of having no one else around, I decided he was good enough. My otherwise high standards were lowered so that he would fit them.

History is about lessons
learned so they aren't repeated.

Be kind.
Rewrite your history
so you can learn the lessons
no one else can teach you.

sincerely, me

late night
stealing away
long calls on patios
and dreaming of dreamy kisses

perpetually
stuck on the dreams
never
imagining futures
or bridging
seven year gaps

maybe that's why
my relationships never last
the farthest forward
i look
is beyond the tip of my nose
to where my lips
meet yours

you can't blame a girl
for sticking to what she knows

Ode to Young Heartaches

can you be in love at 15
when all you know about
romance was read in books?
watched in movies?
how can every song agree on what
love is
when no two people i know
can describe it in the same words?
how is every poem getting right,
when i, who reads it all,
watches it all,
listens to it all,
can not?

could i really have been in love at 15?
all the signs point to no.
but if that's the case,
how come my heart felt
broken
like all the books
movies
songs
poems
said it should?

I started to write about him, but then I erased it.
It's like ripping a photo,
turning a page,
extinguishing a flame.
He's had predecessors - boys with shining eyes and razor sharp tongues - perfect for cutting someone down. Perfect for ripping hearts to shreds. Except, I wrote so much about those guys, but then again, that's before I met Booze.
Some may say I drank my pain away. Truthfully, I drank to forget. For those bubbly, intoxicated hours and nights, I was happy. I had my friends and pretty dresses. Sometimes afterwards, I'd go about my day as usual - and other days, most days, I hurt.
My head. My stomach.
Mix two bottles of beer,
three shooters,
one Jameson and ginger,
and a broken heart.
Shake.
Stir.
Generally agitate.

Yeah, sometimes I drank my pain away -
knowing full well I'd later flush it away.

love lasts forever, but feelings can change.
i never doubt that i loved him for over five years, but that love dissipated and made way for apathy and disbelief. i couldn't bring myself to feel so strongly and so positively towards someone who held onto the past so tightly and so negatively. i've changed since high school and i wanted to think he had too, but around his birthday this past year i learned that he still harbored high school drama. he kept his heart cold instead of turning a new, matured page and i figure that if he can forget the good and just focus on the bad, i can forget it all and just focus on someone else.