He, Who Throws Rocks at Windows, Should be: a.) killed b.) kissed c) kicked d) all of the above

I keep trying to give up on you.
Did you know that?

Most nights,
my heart pounds at the bars of my chest
like a prisoner due for parole,
and I have to deliberately try
to stop believing in you.

But I can't,

and if you think that's my fault,

stop waltzing around my mind,

& carrying rainy days in your pockets.

You must know by now that innocent hearts won't stop believing in:
1. boys (with bedroom eyes)
    A. & dress shirts.

LMNOP

It's easier to write about things I understand,

Like the callouses on my fingers

or the stains on my shirts.

How they got there,

Whose fault it is,

and that I'll probably miss laundry day again this week.

I can't tell you how many times I've sat at this desk,
with my fingers against the keys,
so I can feel my heart hurt.

The key to being lonely
is giving away so much of yourself
that when you try to scream
you don't even have a whisper left,

You say you love me like it's the easiest thing in the world,
and when you're gone I miss you,
and the way you write the letter "A" like it's
a square instead of a triangle.

I keep trying to write
but I can't distinguish love & sorrow
because it reads like "elemenopee"

I'll let you know when that changes.