Horny And Heartbroken In The Same Hoodie
I still sleep in your hoodie even though it smells like my detergent now instead of your mix of smoke and winter air
Neckline stretched from pulling it over my head on nights where I wanted to disappear and still have something to wear
I lie on the couch with my phone in my hand
half tempted to text you every filthy thought spinning in this room
Half tempted to send nothing ever again and let our story stay frozen on that last quiet boom.
My body misses your mouth in ways my pride refuses to admit when the lights are on
Hands know the map by muscle memory
hips twitch at dumb songs we ruined until they were gone
Heart remembers every lie, every flinch
every time you changed the topic when I needed you to hear
Heart remembers shaking in your kitchen while you shrugged and said you could not handle “heavy
” not this year.
I scroll through our chat, thumb hovering over call
every nerve torn between “drag me back” and “leave me dead
” Horny as hell for a fantasy version of you that never existed
grieving the real one who messed with my head
Wrapped in this cotton like a flag for a country I can never visit again
stuck in my bed.
Horny and heartbroken in the same hoodie
wanting your hands on my skin and your number blocked in one breath
Missing the way you bit my neck
hating the way you bit my trust till it bled out to death
I could take this thing off, throw it out, clean slate
make a new bet, Yet every time I try, my fingers freeze
and I whisper “one more week, I am not ready yet.”
I put my hand between my legs and think of someone else on purpose
picture faces I have never met
Try to train my body away from your voice
from your laugh
from your stupid threats to kiss me till I forget
Then the guilt hits, not for the touch
just because my first reflex still pulls your ghost into the sheets
I turn over, press my face into this hoodie
telling myself I deserve better than these dead-end streets.
Friends say block, delete, burn that thing, grow up
move on, find someone who knows how to hold
They mean well, they are right
but my nights keep circling the same story I’ve already told
Healing has its own pace
and grief never does what it’s told.
Horny and heartbroken in the same hoodie
wanting your hands on my skin and your number blocked in one breath
Missing the way you bit my neck
hating the way you bit my trust till it bled out to death
I could take this thing off, throw it out, clean slate
make a new bet, Yet every time I try, my fingers freeze
and I whisper “one more week, I am not ready yet.”
One day I will lend this hoodie to somebody new on a cold walk home and forget where it started
They will spill coffee on the sleeve
kiss me in a doorway, and I won’t feel brokenhearted
I will wash it, fold it, laugh at my own ghosts
feel horny and whole without the sting
This cloth will turn from a relic into background
just a regular thing.
Horny and heartbroken in the same hoodie
that is just where I am tonight on this worn-out couch
Still tangled in old hunger and fresh hurt
still trying not to text you every time the night starts to crouch
I will keep this fabric, lose the spell
one morning at a time till your memory feels less like a knife
Horny and heartbroken in the same hoodie right now
but somewhere down the line, I walk back into my life.
Till that day, I pull the hood up, tuck my chin
breathe in whatever scent is left in the seams
Admit I miss you, admit I need better
and let both truths sit together in my dreams.