You are so sweet,
he says.
And he means it.
But after he leaves,
he does not see that I stay in my car
and cry
for all of the more intimate details of me
that he forever neglects to acknowledge.
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
Almost looks red,
Not quite mahogany.
Touch it if you'd like--
No, not you;
never you again.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
And
I
even
wrote
poetry
for
you...
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:41 PM UTC
I met a girl today, let’s call her, “A”.
She had brown hair which flowed down over her shoulders and back like ripples in a river of melted chocolate.
Her eyes were rich and sweet like pools of poured molasses.
Underneath layers of woolen thrift shop fabric, her lovely pale wrists and neck peeked out.
We spent hours together, inviting strong coffee to splash down our throats, and giggles to bubble up from our lungs like hot springs.
Through shared trust, she confessed to me that her pastel skin had once been painted black with alien brushes,
Her Hershey hair had known the touch of uninvited fingers,
And her cocoa eyes are forced to replay visions of unimaginable horror in color.
But I could imagine.
Oh, sweet girl, I could imagine.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
And,
Just like that,
It was October again.
It felt
A little colder,
A little darker,
And a lot less like you.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
And then, there you are...
With a voice that makes me quiver at every consonant,
And melt at every syllable.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Don't you dare look at me like that
The way he used to
My heart has felt the same crushing gaze before
And it hasn't healed enough for round two
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
All of those love songs make a different noise.
Each background cello note vibrates on my panel of heartstrings, snapping them one by one.
Each minor note sung by broken hearted lyricists swells in my lungs and scratches upward into a mournful wimper.
Even the upeat drums thud hollow and muffled in comparison to my souls echoing cries.
Music can not be music when the one my heart sings for ripped himself away, not bothering to finish our chorus.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC