My poison has always been this:
thinking things will get better
when they never do.
I am always alone.
Even when I’m not.
I am trying to take that away from myself.
I don’t want to be like this anymore.
I remember when I thought you were a stream,
my quiet spot in a secluded forest.
A therapist once told me to build a happy place,
I never told her that you were it.
Me and you
alone in a forest.
just holding each other.
I regret that every poem is about you.
I regret that you are a poem.
I regret that I am not a song you catch yourself singing.
I regret that I catch myself watching you in the bar.
I regret hoping that you are watching me.
I regret the balloon of happiness in my chest
when my friend whispered,
“he can’t keep his eyes off you.”
I regret wearing lipstick because
I know how much you like my mouth.
I resent that you are not a stream,
but an ocean with barrel waves
and I cannot swim.
—Amanda La Valley