Have you listened to the podcast?
I text you every Wednesday about it.
Music was our thing, brief bison.
I don't get into trouble anymore.
I want to die but I'm still alive.
Are you proud of me?
I think of you often.
And sometimes I feel silly,
basing my decisions and actions
off of someone whose opinion
I can no longer ask,
questioning my choices
because of words I only hear in my head,
no longer spoken aloud by you.
I wonder if you watch me, read me,
shake your head when I do something senseless,
laugh when I fall for another stupid girl.
I wonder if you tell your friends about me,
if you share stories of these poems.
when it rains
and I wake in the middle of the night
to the drops hitting my windowpane,
I hope to make you proud,
even if you no longer care.