his girls

I always feared 

they would find me, 

the girls my brother had a habit of leaving.

they had nothing in common

except for their curves like winding roads

and the belief they shared
that their beauty 

would still his wandering eyes.

I feared they would come to me shouting

while I sat in a coffeeshop, at school, in my room, 

trying to write poems on a blog,

to keep my dream 

from dying inside my pen. 

have you seen him?

why isn't he answering his phone?!

who the FUCK is SHE?!!

as if they were the only ones 

he hugged tightly from behind,

whispering against their necks 

I've never met you before...

I won't let go if you don't…

he did this.

I told him not to.

I wagged my fingers and yelled a lot,

he did it anyway.

he liked how their hands would grab his coat,

how their eyes would drink him in.

it was their hunger that drew him,
how they would pout their lips in frustration

that made him treat their hearts

like revolving doors

but they always let him
back in.