broke out a pen, not a pencil

i usually use pencils for english homework,

mechanical ones,

teal or purple.

but i guess it's different

with forgotten homework,

either rushed or

completed by chatgpt

at 10:59 pm.

i don't want to do homework

or study for the tests

i have tomorrow.

i want to write poems,

is what i say.

i want to write poems

forever.

poems read by everyone

across the world.

but i want to go to sleep.

eyelids melting during class,

drifting off,

a new habit for me.

dream of all the poems

i could be writing

about being drained,

while drained.

i do a lot of thinking without writing.

for a writer.

too lazy to grab my journal

out of my nightstand,

open a new document on my laptop.

but i'm doing it now,

perhaps a sign.

it may be to go to bed,

but in the least,

a sign.

and maybe it will say

something else tomorrow.

i hope it will say something else tomorrow.

but i'll check back again, at 10:59 pm.

subjugated to solitude eternal,

only perceiving and watching love,

maybe receiving it but never understanding it

never internalizing it

it bounces off. Doesn't stick,

unkept and unruly and unclean.

formulaic loneliness, like it was planned and chosen 

some plan this is,

going out alone, and eating alone, and sleeping alone

wandering around alone, getting lost alone, pondering alone

some plan this is,

to be so enamored by what could be

maybe if she wanted it enough,

maybe if she cared enough to be kept.

We didn’t break, 
we thinned out 
into quieter sentences. 

Into “we need space,” 
into “I still love you,” 
into words that meant 
stay 
but sounded like go. 

Love didn’t leave.
It just stepped back,

like warmth
lingering in a seat
after someone stands 

proof
someone was there,
and is not
anymore.