I wrote a poem.
Does anyone wanna read it?

"

The story behind lobsters
is that they weren’t thought of as cuisine
until the 19th century. Before that
they were considered peasant food,
and most often served in prisons.

The story behind diamonds
is that they were just rocks until 1938
when there was a marketing campaign
that forever linked them with love.

The story about you is that you thought
I was so much more than I was.

The story behind art
is that it’s never a masterpiece
until it’s already been sold.
Once it already belongs to someone else.

The story behind us
is that once you finally had me, you had
no idea what I was worth.

"

"Here’s what I’ve got, the reasons why I’m pretty sure
we could live together. Because you are always smiling
but write poems about drowning. Because we rewrite
the lyrics of pop songs to be about Pugs and sing them loudly
even though you can’t sing. Because you once texted me
a haiku about the moon when you were drunk. Because
you once cried at the end of Die Hard on Christmas eve
when you were drunk. Because every time another man
smells like American Spirits it reminds me of you
and for a split second I fall in love with him.
Because when I’m sick you hold my hair back, bring me
fruit, kiss me on the mouth and hold me even though
I’m gross. Because you bring me flowers for no reason
but on Valentine’s Day you gave me a bouquet
of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Because you let me
give you a tattoo and you were only a little bit terrified.
Because every time I show you a poem I love you’ve read it
already. Because this morning when we woke up in my bed,
in my apartment, it felt way too small. Because we got dressed
in silence and you brought me coffee without asking.
Because as I walked you to the bus stop I said I think it’s love,
the real kind this time. I have said that to so many others
before but this time feels different. Because we both knew
I was saying it more to myself than to you. Because
you kissed me goodbye anyway and smiled and said
I love you too."

"Here is what I know:
You drink your coffee black and we are afraid of each other.
Once you kissed my neck in front of your friends
and it made me very shy.
Once you kissed my stomach and I started crying.
I see the tender way you touch things and want to kiss your nose
but I keep my mouth to myself.
Your collarbones are craters big enough to fit my fist into.
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in months.
I was not good to the last person I loved so I punished my heart
(I let it break and bleed out then roughly sewed it back together)
It is hard to write poems when I only know how to fuck you.
I am always trying. I am thinking of Somedays. I am saying goodbye.
You asked why I never write anything honest so I am writing you this."

"Tell me again about the wedding
we did not have. How I did not wear white,
did not choke on tradition, did not blush.
All the weddings that were not weddings,
the vows that were just sneezing.
The road ahead painted on a wall and how
we sped over and over again into the brick. I say “we”
like you weren’t just watching me bruise.

Did you know I built us a home, laid the brick,
filled it with Jameson and apple-cheeked
children? I tried to slip the key onto your tongue
but you cannot kiss a smile. So my home is not
an honest home. So my home is an empty bed.
That’s the thing about heart break. It’s the
smallest of worlds ending. Everyone goes around you
smiling, like it’s nothing to close a door"