This is How I Die: Collected Poems

by Kat Savage

The last “I love you” will taste like a lie.

He doesn’t understand I find it difficult to write about the things that make me happy.

I think I will find love one day. I think it will scare the shit out of me. I’m more frightened that I won’t know how to let it in and I will leave like I always do when things feel too intense. I don’t mind the hurt but the happy can be taken away and that scares me.

Sex is not meant to be the demands of one and the compliance of another.

He doesn’t need me, I know that. Sometimes he makes me feel like he does, but I think that’s mostly me tricking myself.

I write about sadness a lot because a part of me is always so sad. And I write about sex because I like sex. And I write about self-love because I try hard to embrace it all the time. I fail a lot but the try is important to me.

I don’t know how to let go of who you never were.

Everything leaves. Even parts of yourself.

Make me bleed first, so at least then I can write about it. And you, you will live in the forevers of ink & scar tissue.

the only thing heavy here is how their words weigh me down,

I feel more alone when I’m around other people than when I’m actually alone.

And so it goes— we all collect and never really lose.

If I hadn’t hurt you, you wouldn’t have overcome all you have. So, you’re welcome. Remember when I talked about narcissism?

This morning I was telling someone about a man who, despite the pain he’s caused, I will see next weekend.

Mood.

You’re the only man it still hurts to write about.

“we all fall in love many times but never the same love twice.”

When he says he feels bad for hurting me, I remember not to say “it’s okay” because I read somewhere this response feeds the subconscious notion that their actions are, in fact, okay.

I’ve got to stop cutting myself. I’ve got to stop bleeding for them. For all of them.

Don’t let them take you under. Don’t let them decide who you are before you’ve had the chance to.

You weren’t the settling down type and I knew that going in. I actually thought I was going to be the thing that changed you. Or maybe I was hopelessly hoping.

The only thing I’ve ever been sure of in my entire miserable existence, is that I was meant to love you.

I’ve always been waiting for the one who knows exactly how to love me.

I always fell in love with the unobtainable because the hurt was familiar and in so many ways, it was safe.

didn’t want to. I had to. It was all I could do to feel again.

The best thing I ever did was stop begging you to stay when all you wanted to do was go.

I’m waiting for someone to come along and suddenly all these lonely nights will make sense.

And you didn’t understand why it was so hard for me to let you go.

I just thought you should know you are not special.

All that I am has always been meant for him.

We love harder after we’ve fought. I think we are trying to make up for the minutes lost to the argument.

I will spend the rest of my time with you showing you what it feels like to be truly loved.

Thank you for tell me the truth even when I didn’t want to hear it.