i'll never lose my voice

she said i think too much about goodbyes.
yeah, maybe that’s right.
but i don’t know how to fake a smile while i break inside
watching you walk away for the last time.
and you lied.
said you’d come back but i haven’t seen you since.
so tell me how i’m supposed to deal with any of this.
tell me how i’m supposed to feel anything other than worthless,
because i can’t, and i am,
so forget it.
there are too many tears for you to kiss away,
too many fears for me to wish away,
and all i ever wanted was for you to stay.
but it’s too late.

i get a sinking feeling every morning when i open my eyes and realize i dreamed myself into a better life than the one i woke up to

i can’t describe to you how it feels to think about all the people who have left my life. it’s like a hollow pit opens up in the centre of my stomach and everything falls through it. i know it’s overdramatic to say that i feel like everyone leaves because i have some of the best people i could ask for in my life and the most important ones i have faith that they’ll stick around. but it just makes me sick to think of how strongly i used to believe the same thing of people who are long gone now. i know i’ve fucked up a lot but i honestly try so fucking hard to be a good person and a good friend and just someone who’s worth holding onto. but a lot of the time i don’t feel like i am.

everyone who has ever been a part of your life leaves a mark; i’m learning with time that most of those marks are scars and most of those scars don’t heal

maybe i never did, because the person i thought you were would never have done the things you’ve done. and i don’t think you ever knew me either if you believe the things you believe about me. and you know what, you can go ahead and think whatever the fuck you want about me but at least i fucking tried. i tried with fucking everything i had in me and it wasn’t enough to change anything. i just can’t try anymore.

you know how some people say that people constantly walk in and out of their lives? for me it feels more like they float in and out - there are no storms or shipwrecks, just a slow shift in the water as they slowly get further and further away until one day they’ve disappeared completely. sometimes they call out to me and i reach out my hand but by then the current has carried them too far. and most of the time they don’t even try to swim against it; instead they just quietly float away as my outstretched arms feel like they’re breaking. and i’m weak, and i’m tired, and it feels like i’ve been treading water my whole life. where the fuck will you be when i’m drowning?

you don’t just move on from something like this
fifteen years of open palms and clenched fists
and my scars just aren’t fading
my ears are still ringing
and your voice in my head echoes
on and on
and on
and
you don’t just move on from someone like you
fifteen years of fucking breaking in two
fifteen years of soaking pillows so deep
i still drown in my sleep
night
after
night
fifteen years of this time i’m leaving
this time i mean it
i swear by the weekend i’m gone
fifteen years of closing my eyes
and crossing my broken heart
hoping to die
praying you really were packing your things
and your hands and your words
in a suitcase and leaving
for good
fifteen years of empty apologies
this time will be different
words that are lost on me
because actions speak louder
and yours fucking scream
so shut it up shut it up shut the fuck up please

nineteen years and you’re finally gone
but it’s true what they say, dear:
you don’t just move on.

you look but don’t see,
we talk but don’t speak.

Peter’s Pet Penguin

   Peter began every day the same way: he woke up surrounded by his stuffed animals, got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and asked his parents, “When can we get a real pet?” Peter had loved animals since his very first teddy bear. His favourite stuffed animal was a small, fluffy penguin he carried with him everywhere he went. But he wanted a real live animal of his own.
   One morning, his parents surprised him. When he came bouncing down the stairs asking, “When can we get a real pet?” they looked at each other and then back at him. “Well,” his mother told him, “you’re almost six years old. I think it’s time we get you a real pet for your birthday.”
   Peter couldn’t believe his ears. “Thank you so much! Thank you!” he cried, running to his parents and hugging them both tight.
   His father chuckled and asked, “What kind of pet would you like?”
   Peter thought about it for a moment, then looked down at the stuffed penguin in his hand. “A penguin!” he exclaimed. “I want a penguin!”
   His parents suddenly frowned.
   “I’m sorry, Peter,” his mother said, “but I don’t think we can get you a penguin.”
   “Why not?” Peter asked, confused.
   “Well, son,” his father explained, “penguins come all the way from the South Pole. That’s too far away for us to get you one.”
   “I’m sorry, Peter,” his mother added. “If we could, we would.”
   Peter was heartbroken. He went back to his room and held his stuffed penguin close. “I wish you were real,” he whispered to it.
   Suddenly, he had an idea! He thought and thought until finally, he had a perfect plan.

Read More

i’m sorry. sorry that we’ve drifted, sorry that we’re distant, sorry that you probably hate the choices i’ve made. sorry that we barely talk. sorry for whatever i did to push us so far apart that it’s hard to even carry a conversation when we do. sorry that most of whatever we used to share is gone. sorry that talking to you makes me sad because all i can ever think about is how much i miss you. because i do. i miss you so fucking much. i miss you in the kind of way that makes me want to cry just thinking about it for more than a second. do you miss me? because most days i don’t think so.

the oxford english dictionary, second edition, contains within it:
171,476 current words,
47,156 obsolete words,
and around 9,500 derivatives as subentries.
with all these words at my disposal,
should it not be easy to find a select few to capture my feelings?
but every time i try,
the letters feel awkwardly forced together,
the sounds falling flat on lazy tongues,
and i am left stuttering what barely resembles a thought.
i curse this language for giving me only
a useless array of meaningless five-dollar-words
and nothing to convey that what i feel inside is golden.
228,132 words, and all i really have
is 228,132 ways to not say what is on my heart.

sometimes i wonder what it’d be like
if we ever followed through on all those things we talk about
if you ever got in your car and drove to my city
and walked through my front door
you’d probably hate my bedroom
with the aesthetically unbalanced walls
and clutter piling up where creativity should breathe
a place i only visit when sleep is calling me
i know none of it speaks to your artistic sensibility
but you know, that messy bed is good for more than just sleeping
so won’t you come and paint with me
that messy bed is good for more than just sleep

maybe i shouldn’t have wasted all my words
when i was fourteen and thought i knew what love was
and then i’d have something to write
when i sit down with my guitar and these awful feelings
but nothing comes out
i’m uninspired and lonely as hell
with just enough strength to crawl back into bed
cuddle close to this feeling of defeat
and hope it’s gone by the morning
like everyone i sang about
when i still had a voice.

sometimes
i’m just too sad for sad songs
all those minor chords
all those lines
about other kinds of lines
and the futility of the human condition

sometimes
the bad news is everywhere
it’s written in the headlines
it’s written on your face
it’s waiting for you in the living room when you get home
and at least when it’s playing in your headphones
you can turn it
off

and that’s why sometimes
i just need pop music
something saccharine; musical calories
something with a good beat that doesn’t make me feel anything
except the need to tap my toes
and hum that little hook
because misery is contagious
but that chorus might be even catchier
and i just need
to escape

maybe
people who listen to top 40 radio
are the saddest of all
because they need to escape all the time
or maybe they just like it because it’s easy to listen to
and easy to understand
and thinking and feeling are just so exhausting

i wonder which is more sad