most times
when he wakes up each day
he blames himself
for staying at the docks
and chasing a ship that’s already set sail
headed for wherever
all he knew was that
it was going to a place far away from him
he knew it probably wouldn’t have turned back
but just in case
he jumped headfirst into the ocean
swam after it
right through the high seas
it disappeared over the horizon
and he slipped under the surface
like a boulder;
sank to the bottom ever so slowly
but he couldn’t be bolder
and launched himself back up to the top
the ship was too far for him to reach,
(it was never within his reach anyway);
appearing smaller than a speck.
all hope was lost then
on waves, he was being tossed
with the violence of tenfold high tides
while the weather was frost
he’s an ice block afloat
hoping to be washed ashore
and that was how he’d been
ever since his love left.

he never needed him more than he did then
to be vulnerably honest
he never loved himself
true, he had so much love to give but
he could never give it to himself
and when he showed up
he finally had the chance
to not face himself anymore
but it was a mistake
and it wasn’t his responsibility
to love him till he loved himself.

neither was it his responsibility
to love him into loving him just so he could stay
to fight all his demons for him
to dispel all his anxiety
that stopped him from giving him everything.

he wrote so many poems about him
each day in his head
playing and replaying all the conversations they’d had
never put them on paper though
and if he did, he threw them out
just like how he did with him
’cause he probably wasn’t good enough
and neither were the ones he tossed out

but maybe all that doesn’t matter now
if he wanted to, then he would
and he really wanted to be the one
just like how he was the one
for me.