I’ve kissed more bottles
than I have people, in my lifetime.
I’ve searched and searched
for the happiness
at the bottom of those bottles.
And came up empty handed
every single time.
The only lesson I’ve learned,
is that a hangover hurts a hell
of a lot less than any heartbreak.
I’ve become so good
at lying to everyone around me.
But I cannot lie to the hole
inside of my chest.
I take shots like its Novocaine.
Trying to numb the pain.
To quiet the voices.
To fill the void.
Maybe I feel empty because I left
pieces of myself
in everything I used to love.
Is there a word for sucker-punching
someone in the heart?
There should be.
I can only fill so many words
Into a postcard,
In a phone call,
In a space.
Before I realize once again,
that words are sometimes
used for things other
than filling the emptiness.
I’m done blocking it out.
Drinking myself numb.
I am going to let myself feel.
It’s going to rip me apart.
But at the end, I will get up,
and keep breathing.
Keep moving.
One breath at a time.
One day at a time.
I am not okay, but I am alive.
And I will be okay one day.
I’m holding on to that.
I am going to take the knife
from my own back
and use it to cave my initials
in the tree at the top of the highest mountain.
I am going to survive.