Believe me, I should know

I've said a lot of things to try to keep you out

to keep my heart safe, to win without a fight.

Like-" yeah, I fall in love a lot."

Making it seem like it didn't mean anything

when it did.

"It's different every time."

Which is true. But maybe it's more true that I don't really know what love is.

I've always got my fingers on the edge, hanging on.

And with good reason, because there was never anyone at the bottom.

And all I did was set it up so that you won't think you mean anything to me either.

When what I meant to say was not that I loved them all, but that I needed so little

So much less than I need now.

And so my spoils are different versions of my broken heart

clumsily molded into the shape of something I'm missing.

I need to find a new focus, to appreciate what I have

and let the empty space be the reference to the fullness.

I just wonder when I'll stop missing your taste in my mouth.