it is okay that you did
not love me.

it is okay.

it is okay that you
unraveled my spine
in your basement
and put tissues over it
to keep it from bleeding,
it is okay that you drank my
blood and sprayed the
scent of lemonaid onto it,
threw it in my face
when you decided you
did not like the taste,
and then announced that you
preferred alcohol against
your mouth to my lips
it is okay that you didn't
like my poetry,
it is okay that you don't
particularly like me, anymore.

it's okay that you don't understand
that sometimes being
my friend means more
than just begging me
not to jump into the
middle of the parkway,
or removing the needle
that caught in my eye,
or throwing the flammable
tears into the river outside
of your backyard and getting me
out in time before either of
our hearts caught on fire.

sometimes it's just saying
hello, or goodbye, or--never mind
it's okay that you don't know
how to do either, it's okay
that you can't look me directly in the eye--
when strangers come up to me and ask
what you're doing inside of my pupils,
it's okay to admit the soap and shampoo
could not remove my vision of
someone who looks an awful lot like you.

and though i'll never really get
the whole you, your tan hands,
the chemistry equations in your brain,
the commitment issues, the placement
of your body as an x on a map
five hundred miles away from
wherever your mind actually is,

it's okay.

it is okay
that you don't need me, and maybe someday
you'll go through your souvenir box
and find me inside, and wonder what
you missed out on, but it's also okay if you don't.
do whatever you have to do, and try to do something
that doesn't have to be done,
but i am not going to stick around long enough
to see if it turns out that it's not okay after all.