Burn Victim

The things I write about you are not pretty

I.

You are the ugly way I feel about Los Angeles,

Mouth a smear like sunset singed with citrus burns

Hollywood hill is a smashed pomegranate against your scorched teeth

All the stars walk the red carpet while I write sonnets to your mouth,

It’s been too long since the last time we spoke

I’ve forgotten what everyone else looks like

Your hands are trees made of smog and they have taken root in my lungs,

I wish this city would burn to the ground

II.

The last time I fell in love I broke all the dishes in the kitchen and bled out onto the floor,

You were not good for me

You held the band-aids out but I told you to put them back in the drawer,

I loved being so broken for you

Your heart was a hospital without the healing,

My parents never taught me that being loved for your wounds was wrong

III.

Tonight, I am falling asleep without you

I’ve had bad dreams ever since we met

Things about dark-haired women that die because they never ran fast enough

I never ran fast enough

I’m still learning what it’s like not to find your face etched into the wood of my floorboards

And I’m failing miserably

You were not good for me

IV.

You were not good for me

You were California burning and my lungs couldn’t take it

You were not good for me

You were a broken spine I couldn’t set

I was a scab you always picked

You were not good for me

V.

Get out of my poetry

Nobody wants to read about the ways we broke

Get out of my poetry

This isn’t about you anymore

This is about Los Angeles

And how much I hate the sky

California wasn’t good for me-

Nothing about dying is pretty