Conor (___________).

Day 127

Tonight will be the lowest point I have ever been at, then again tomorrow night.

Though, we will not lie.

Leaving

I’m just really fucking sad and in unrequited love and sad and heartbroken and sad.

I will
go
down.

Anonymous asked: \\\i think you know better///

Excuse me?

Homecoming

Now you are home,
so close to me I can practically
hear
you
laugh.

Against my attempts to become happy, I’m coming home too.

Goodbye

GOODBYE

By: Conor De La Garza

because lips are like
holidays.

between your teeth

I will lie.

because yesterday we
laughed
loudly.

because seventeen
came up
easy.

because twenty
hurt my
ears.

because income tax
meant
you
loved me.

sssssskiny
held
us
up
heavily and
my smile was not

crooked

Day 110

I really wish I had not seen that.
My heart bends.

Home is in a mason jar underneath your bed.

Day 108

I want you to feel my forehead again, because I still miss you.

Though, you are probably better off without me.

…and then after the rest was history

By: Conor De La Garza
After Amelia Hammond

I wish I were handsome enough to make your heart stop

and the way the moon
covers my sheets
at night

looks like your
cheeks.

Hallelujah

teenage skin
on the tips
of fingers again.

I tried to kiss you but then afterwards there was nothing left.

…then afterwards

60+ piece manuscript of poetry, prose, short story pieces, and journal entries (journal entries from the last two years). I’m probably not going to put it on amazon if you want a copy just send me your email here, http://conordelagarza.tumblr.com/ask gonna do one more post sometime next week then I’ll probably delete all this or just leave it inactive or whatever. I don’t think I’m going to be here much longer so i want you to have this manuscript. I hope you like it or whatever. Thanks for the love.

Dear

I am trying to become a good man, somebody that you like. I don’t know what “becoming a good man” consists of though. My days usually revolve around trying, but failing to eat something and listening to Fleetwood Mac’s LP “Rumors” (one of my top five records) that I found at Half Price Books for three dollars with you, before we went to the park. My evenings are usually made up of bloody noses and drinks with strangers.

This morning was exceptionally difficult to get out of bed. The weight of your art is carried on my walls. I keep on writing love letters, out of habit that will never be sent. I keep romanticizing the idea of never leaving this bedroom through half thought poems.

Last night, somebody told me, “you need to stop being sad and go out and have fun”. I only laughed. Maybe, I love this pain too much. Maybe, I’d rather lie in bed and think about the way you used to smile at me. Maybe, I need to become a good man.