Oops.

I am not in love with you,
But I have written too many poems
With your names in all of the blank spaces
To ignore this feeling.

I hate fuck-ups.
I hate the feeling that they leave me,
And I hate that I never eat enough food to throw up properly
When I drink too much in order to ignore the fuck-up.

I have become a professional at avoiding late-night confessionals,
I dance around the broken glass on the floor
In hopes I make it out with only minor injuries.

It’s the bigger cuts I just can’t handle.
They end up making their way from my feet to my brain,
And turning themselves into a constant rain
Of hurt and stomachaches.

I’d like to waste Friday nights with you,
And I’d like to wake up in the morning to the chill of realizing
That you stole the covers again.
We can get drunk,
And fall into bed.
Then, we can fall into each other.

I can’t ignore what happened,
I’ve spent too much time doing that,
So let’s sweep up the glass on the floor and dance once more.
I know I’m not the best,
But maybe our laughter can drown out my stumbling,
And maybe our song can drown out the fear,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
We can turn our mistakes into waltzing,
And our doubts into trusting.