Don’t text him.
Don’t call him at 2 AM.
Don’t think he is your cure.
You can’t keep dialing through men
as if they are 911 operators, as if
they could write poetry about you,
as if they’d save you from the fire.
Don’t bury your flame, don’t run
from the building. Engulf yourself
in your difficulties and your damage.
Set destruction to your past
and let every boy know you are proud
to sleep in that bed alone.
Don’t text him.
Don’t call him at 2 AM.
Don’t think he is your cure.
You are your own cure,
even if it burns.
This is beautiful