for the bitter

never less important than the sweet

more interesting

more worth feeling.

i told you my dream, the thing i’d wished for.

i don’t think i had ever told anyone before

i told you i’d always wanted someone to throw rocks at my window at night to see me

(what you didn’t know is that i believed in it so long and so much that the way i choose my pajamas has that idea engrained in it)

you instantly replied

id never do that.

and that,

was the conversation.

but it’s more than that

my dreams

i don’t want to believe they are dumb

i want to believe in them

i can’t give up on them,

does that mean

i give up on you?

——

and another thing

it is hard

for us to fill each others needs.

i want what you can’t give

you want what i can’t give

whatever is least natural to me, is what means the most to you

and it goes around like that.

———

my dreams are the reason i’d go through whatever hell it would be breaking up

i have to believe

i have to believe that when i want to dance

i wouldn’t feel self conscious, i’d feel free

i have to believe that i will write poems about the kind of soul i’m dealing with

i have to believe that he will throw rocks at my window, buy me flowers and make me laugh all the times i need it (and extra just for good measure)

i have to believe that i can have their entire heart

but more that my entire heart can be filled to the brim and sometimes overflow with love

i have to believe it

i have to

i do

do i have to believe it?

——-

the one things i wanted in a relationship i don’t have in the way i wanted

1. a bad liar

2. someone to push me

and i hate it

but i don’t know if it’s bad

you don’t push me

so i have to push myself and

i hate how it feels

because i’m much worse at it than i imagined.

when i’m with friends and people who push me it’s so easy, with a little bit of encouragement i love to see where i fly

how i love myself when i do

but with nothing,

or worse than nothing,

constant hesitation and fear

i get stuck

mad and angry at myself

i don’t like hating me,

so maybe it’s for the best,

pushing me into these terrible threat infested waters

so that i can do it,

so i can swim.

i haven’t learned how yet,

i’ve drowned often enough

but i someone

mostly by someone’s helping hand

come gasping back up for air

———

on the best days it feels good

on the worst like the chokey

trapped and hot and it’s all my fault