I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.

"mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all"

i see my reflection

is it broken
i'm not pretty
my eyes are too narrow
my legs are too long
my stomach is too big from dinner
how could i possibly be fair

"mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all"
i repeat it
over and over
but the image remains
angry
i swing my fists
and along with the shattered pieces
my reflection falls to the floor

i slump to the ground
"why won't you work"
i cry
then i look at the mirrored fragments
my reflection no longer there

on a slim piece near my hand
there's a reflection of a young girl
she's moving but her eyes are closed
she travels using only four senses
she has lost the fifth
the young girl stumbles
and flails her arms
she cannot see
for she is blind

she would be grateful for a set of working eyes no matter how narrow

on a long piece near my knee
there's a reflection of a young man
he's in a moving wheelchair
when it stops
the young man lifts himself out
using only his hands
the young man has no legs
for he had just come home from war

he would be grateful for two legs no matter how long

on a wide piece near my hip
there's a child
a child whose skin is tight around his bones
no meat to keep him warm
for he hasn't eaten in days
weeks
maybe months

that boy would **** to have his stomach big from dinner

unprivileged persons litter on the shattered pieces
blindness
starvation
deafness
illness
disorders
it's there
it's real

i piece back the mirror and seal the cracks with glue
'mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of the all"
i ask again
when i see myself
i nod

for i am privileged
i am grateful
i am fair

i see it in your eyes
the lust
you say you love me,
but is the love still there
do you know the difference between lust and love
are you day-dreaming
hello
this is reality

is it my heart that you want
or only my body
you can't love something that you only feel lust for
i see it in your eyes
that spark of love no longer shines
it's lust that i see,
burning through,
lighting up the darkest nights

i feel it
your eyes on my body
they no longer radiate with admiration
bu instead need
need
not for my heart, my love, my soul
but for my body lying beneath you
a filthy soul you've become
wanting nothing more than intimacy

where's the love gone to
flushed down the drain along with our plans for the future
our future
we were supposed to have forever
but now it's down to one night
one night for you to get what you want and leave me a mess
alone, scared
what should i do
what can i do

i hate myself
i hate myself because i still love you
i know i should hate you
for what you did
but i can't
you said you loved me
i believed you
but now i wonder if lust had been love all this time

maybe you never knew the difference between lust and love

maybe you never loved me at all

To know her is not just knowing her
name, birthday and her favorites.

No, to know her you have to notice all the
little things that make her, her.

The way her fingers tap when her favorite
song is playing out loud.

The way her eyes always search for that
one particular person in the crowd.

The way she holds back a smile when
his name is mentioned.

Most of all, how she is when she is all by herself.

Nothing shows better how a person is,
than their behavior alone.
Then she is a hundred percent herself,
and that, my love, is the girl you want to know.