An Ode to Florence and Every Other Beautiful Thing That Will Probably Hurt Me

How many ways are there to say,

“You are calling me”?

You,

A soul I’ve never met.

Me,

A boy who has never stepped

In your side of the globe

Are somehow meant for each other.

I don’t know how you’ll be when I get to you.

Maybe your bare-brick authenticity will teach me to love espressos,

Maybe you will teach me some nights are not meant for sleeping;

Sometimes bitter is what you need, A lesson I am still learning, A scab I am still picking at,

Pretending there will not be blood under.

Maybe you will teach me that sometimes we need to bleed.

Maybe you will give reason to the days where it feels like reason is trying to escape too -

Sometimes I get hurt and I don’t want to heal,

Sometimes the pain is the only roof I have,

A daily familiarity,

Something to come home to.

Maybe you will give me a beautiful pain,

Maybe you will make me scream - 

Lately I have been screaming so loud

But if these streets are empty,

What good is it screaming at yourself?

My therapist says to not run away from my problems,

But what if I just want somewhere with better echoes?

I want to go somewhere where I can hear myself again,

I want to go somewhere I won’t be rejected.

I want to go and scream in a place where an ocean hides my screams

From those I scream at.

You,

You unknown mistress,

I want to be trapped in you.

I want something to prove that I can be by myself, So tell me why do I want to be with you so bad?

Florence,

You are calling me.

You are the next drug,

The next girl,

The next scar that I can’t wait to wear.