i am not breakfast in bed

i am not a page in your favorite book

i am not handshakes and hugs with your mother

see, now i don't know what exactly you boys think of me when you see me

but i'm guessing it's not "hey what's her name, i want a stable monogamous relationship with her"

i've learned not to give my heart to anyone, and the main reason for that?

because he was a sip of iced coffee, a pair of sunglasses thrown onto the dashboard, a wisp of smoke from lips, swirling its toxic entrails around my brain

because he was the wheels of a

skateboard, a pair of ripped jeans and a swig of jack daniels at 9 in the morning because he was a rose petal pressed in between the worn soft pages of my favorite book

he was the corner of lips turned slightly into a smile he was blonde hair spread out over the expanse of my pillowcase

he was the cologne that stained my silk sheets for weeks

but i had forgotten that rose petals once came from stems ripe with sharp thorns, i had forgotten that the pages of books can leave stinging paper cuts,

that the rips in his jeans had to have come from a blistering fall,

that the burning in my throat wasn't just from the alcohol anymore and the smoke from his lips would soon eat up my lungs from the inside out,

strangling me the same way his silences did

this is why i am the way that i am

i am the hot taste of hard liquor on your tongue, rolling down the back of your throat into the pit of an empty stomach

i am the frozen walk of shame in mid-january, red bottomed heels clicking masterfully against stainless steel sidewalks, head back, eyes dry amongst a sea of strangers

i am the rumpled sheets to the left of your fatigued figure that you pat with sleep filled limbs and closed eyes, to make sure i have evaporated into the frosted air outside your window

i am not breakfast in bed, because coffee is too strong now and honestly i prefer jack

i am not a page in your favorite book, because the beautiful words that once lived there have bled and been muddled far beyond recognition or repair

i am not handshakes or hugs with your mother because he was home

and let's just say i'm homeless now