love isn’t far away
it’s not hiding anywhere
you didn’t need to
cry over losing it
you can’t lose what
you’re made of
I posted this to my instagram a few days ago and thought I ought to post it here, too.
here we go, another round in the
boxing ring. you against me this time
goody for you, I think you may have won.
how dull, hum drum, just another woman
who loves you. set the doll aside, its
weeping eyes can put out a fire before
it combusts. I heard energy cannot be
destroyed, only transformed, and this
woman, too, like the fruit flies who pop
persistently in and out of existence from
nowhere. off to find another painful body
to experience, hopefully one a bit better
suited this time, or at least with some very fine
armour. one with white white teeth and some
plump, pink lips that you’d happily bleed
to be swallowed by.
after all you’re that kind of a guy.
I think that last punch wasn’t
even thrown by your good side.
save the worst for last, like someone
else I used to know. strike low blow
after low blow. hey, here’s some space
for you. I have miles of it, you couldn’t
find me with the Hubble telescope.
how’s this? can you feel me again?
can you taste this waning love on your
tongue like yesterday’s leftovers?
pack it up and don’t forget to toss
it in the trash after the fact cause
you never meant to bring it home in
the first place.
to be the leaky tap
from morning to night.
can’t find where to turn the water off.
oh, young heart
as we were something,
we were nothing.
in hopes once more
a friendly energy
money left on the table
a way to make this work
a means of using
to our benefit
a strong defense
take a page from change
in this case,
make it an arrangement
be willing to fail
be broken into pieces
if nothing else,
it could help ease some fears
after so long
I’m not to your liking
if there’s any room left
all’s well that ends well, right?
dreamer of heartache
“she’s mad,” they whisper
“that’s love,” she shrugs
all of these silly poems
written about you lining up
like unnecessary soldiers
to collect dust for me
in a random journal waiting
arbitrarily to be tossed
one day in the bin by
some stranger who never
knew what it felt like
to cry over the words.
I’m taking our words.
They’re all I really have left of us now that we’re both gone.