these half months
filled with paper cups and
subway speak, so slow
keeps both my hands on the steering wheel
humming darkly, humming folk.

these torn out pages
scrawled with blue pen
obscured poems i wrote,
when i was a trainwreck for
the boy next door
with hair colored like sand.
i fell so hard
for his photographs.

but there are those who can fake beautiful,
and the few that actually are.
and he wasn't either of the two.
his heart was just too hard.

but these
new days filled with
sunshine haze and a
newfound fix for trust
and my new sense of abandon and
a boston boy i could love,
keeps me guessing what i
should be thinking,
keeps me wondering what i've missed.
and i can't help it but to
wonder if i spend
far too much
time looking for love,
when i'm not even sure if i can
handle that much.

if you need me, you can find me driving
behind some beat up ice cream truck.
i'll be losing myself wholly and,
feeling good for once.