A Portrait of You

1. i know that you’ll pass algebra one day. scribbles of exponents and variables line the pages of your sketchbook and something always seems to be left behind when you sling your bag over your shoulder and walk away.


2. once you left your toothbrush at my house. it sat on the counter for a week, as i wondered if you’d ever say anything, if you’d mention that night like it meant anything at all


3. once you left your book on the table at lunch. you asked me to bring it to you, but forgot to meet me to pick it up. i have it on my bookshelf. it’s waiting.


4. once you left part of your heart behind. you cover the wound with some smoke and red plastic cups, as if you can pretend that those feelings don’t exist, as if they’re not weighing you down with every step you take. 


5. are you coming back for the part of you you left with me? how you kissed me and then told me you don’t have feelings and you certainly aren’t one for commitment 


6. for all the times i stood there listening to you talk about him, and all your boys and for all the times i just think, what do i have to do to be like them. 


7. you deserve love, and you deserve to get your book back. i can give you one of those, you choose which. 

This poem is about: 


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