1:13 Was Wrong

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I don’t think I can

Keep loving you anymore

My light is dying.

…

I don’t think I can

Take the love that you give me

It hurts me too much.

…

I don’t think that you

Even like me anymore

You don’t seem like it.

…

I don’t think I fit

in your spaces anymore

Don’t think I want to.

…

I don’t remember

When you stopped writing me poems

Don’t think I want them.

…

You showed me that you

Do not want me anymore

Now I don’t want you.

…

You told me that you

Want me to leave you alone

I think that I will.

A New Complex

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I smell like his t-shirt

I’d give him a good life

We hold it together

with boxes of cheap wine

I drink it like water

He feels like a riptide

He’s shut in the bedroom

It’s never been so quiet

I cry in his bathroom

He knows I’m not alright

But he’s only human

I thought he was sunshine

He looks like a hero

He feels like a landslide

He stopped writing me poems

I hope we’ll be alright

I’m facing his back while

He’s sleeping at midnight

I don’t fit in his spaces

I guess they got too tight

Bereavement Boardwalk

poem

In, two-three-four

If I hadn’t seen the oncoming wave,

Hold, two-three-four

If I had just faced away.. closed my eyes..

Out, two-three-four

maybe the cool breeze against my cheeks,

Hold, two-three-four

or the salty wind stirred up by its breadth,

In, two-three-four

or the shade cast by its great shadow

Hold, two-three-four

would’ve lulled me into the peace I crave

Out, two-three-four

so I could’ve finally rested. But I do see it,

Hold, two-three-four

and see clearly the fool I’d been for hoping

In, two-three-four

I’d find relief in the inevitable.

Hold, two-three-four

If I had just faced away.. closed my eyes..

Out, two-three-four

maybe I could’ve fallen into the rest you

In, two-three-four

can’t get while you’re clenching your jaw

Hold, two-three-four

or bracing for impact til your bones ache.

Potluck

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I cooked a banquet for one.

They took a bite

out of everything

then excused themselves from the table.

I offered the leftovers

to someone else

who seemed hungrier.

They took a bite or two

out of everything,

spilled the red wine on the table cloth,

decided they had their fill,

and let the rest get cold.

“What a waste” you said, “Let’s eat.”

and you told me you were starving,

so was I…

Except, all I had was a half eaten meal.

But, so did you.

We set the wine-stained table

and shared our food.

Stories/ Never is an awfully long time.

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My window was always cracked at night

So that when Peter Pan came for me,

I’d be already waiting,

Thinking every happy thought I had

So that as long as he had enough pixie dust

And he was willing to take my hand

I’d be ready to step out the window

And to believe that I wouldn’t fall..

As long as he would be there and I believed

I’d fly

All the way to Neverland.

The smell of summer and midnight air

Takes me to back then..

To that time when I believed he’d come,

And believed I’d step out that window into the story where I’ve always belonged,

Because, surely,

I don’t belong here.

Night after night

I read my bedtime stories out loud

Hoping he’d hear them, and that somehow

And they’d convince him I’m the girl

Who deserves to fly

Far, far away.

And back then,

Even though the days went by and

He still hadn’t come to fly me away

A part of my heart still had faith that

Even if Neverland wasn’t real and

I’d have to grow up,

I’d be one who’d grow up and prove it:

All the stories are true,

Fairies are real,

Dragons exist –

They’re all just hiding somewhere far,

Far away

From our cynicism, guilt, shame.

But, Peter never came.

And I never proved a thing..

the only thing that proved true in the end was that

Never is an awfully long time.

Storming

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Vibrant green and dull grey

Brings me back to when

I felt more alive

Sometimes I “wake up”

And remember how it felt to really imagine

And really play

I miss who I was back then

But you don’t see time slipping away

It just goes, and one day you’re sitting

On a leather couch

In the office, and

Suddenly remembering that it’s all past..

One day you “wake up”,

And all it took was watching out the window

The vibrant green and dull grey, and

The smell of rain.

Not Guilty

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“Not guilty.”

You pled, and I bled.

The jury wouldn’t look

at the knife

you left stuck.

I begged them to see

the hole in my chest

that you clumsily filled with ash

as if it could replace a beating heart.

But they closed their eyes when you asked them,

“How can you believe that wound is real?

It’s impossible to see

what only she can feel.”

The jury rendered a verdict;

“Insanity”, the foreman said,

pointing at me.

It didn’t matter I wasn’t on trial.

You killed me, but still

they found you “not guilty”

only because

I didn’t

die.