diamond-dahl
English
A long time ago I used to write poetry. Awful poetry. And then one day I wrote one of which I was truly proud and shared it with my mother. And she never let me live it down; she didn't *get it.* Over ten years ago, I stopped writing poetry. / / I've started again. / *** / I think Hello Poetry ought to add a blurb box for those thoughts too short for a whole piece. / *** / "Shoulda known you'd bring me heartache; almost lovers always do." -- Almost Lover, A Fine Frenzy
When he hurts you, I won't say I told you so
because it's not my job
to protect you
much as I want to
when he hurts you,
I won't say anything
because I won't be here
I hope you're not referencing us when you say
you "tried" a three-person relationship
darling you didn't even come close to a relationship with us
but then again,
I know how distant your "friendships" are
so I shouldn't be surprised
if you consider the brief time we had "trying"
It's been over a year since you said goodbye
we were good enough
better than all the rest, in fact
but still said goodbye
I should leave now,
run far away
but you'd still haunt me
with what-was' and what-ifs
like you do til this day
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
And just like magick, the merest glimpse of you will pull your memory across my mind,
I dreamt of you again last night
You walked in, and said "I'm here"
and were ready
Not sure,
but curious at least
And I tried so hard
to think of things to say
that would let you know
how much I've missed you,
and I'm so excited you're
willing to try,
and not scare you off
And you seem nervous,
but smilingly so,
and not at all poised to dart
For once believing more in the
possibilities than the certainties...
And then I wake up.
Not only have I slept in,
and it's terribly hot,
you're not there again
As I knew you wouldn't be.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
"Write hard and clear about what hurts." -- Ernest Hemingway
It hurts that my grandmother might not be around for my wedding
It hurts that my grandfather may be, but may not remember it
It hurts that I live so far my from people I love
It hurts knowing they will hurt when I tell them I want to move clear across the country
It hurts that I am stuck here, facing people I would rather avoid
It hurts that a place I called home has turned on me
It hurts more that I may be imagining they have turned on me
It hurts to think I may have disappointed the first person to give me a chance
It hurts that people I once called friends will speak so bitterly about me
It hurts that, ten months later, I so strongly miss someone who melds perfectly with us
It hurts that she would rather run than even attempt to see what it's like
It hurts that she may act so calm, as if nothing happened
It hurts that her facade is so strong, while mine crumbles at the sight of her
It hurts that the longer we go on, the more we risk becoming "that creepy older couple"
It hurts that it hurts him, when I still speak of wanting another
It hurts that I would not be complete without one or the other
It hurts that so many friends are married, and growing families
It hurts that I will have to defend my own choices in growing mine
It hurts that I must defend my family to my family
It hurts that so many people work the job that pays the bills, and the job they really love
It hurts that the job I love must be revealed strategically
It hurts that who I am must be revealed strategically
It hurts anticipating the hurt that will come from that judgement
It hurts when I try to broaden my horizons, and I can see the hurt in my best friend's eyes
It hurts watching people not fulfill their full potential
It hurts watching people work so hard, but still gain so little
It hurts working so hard in my job, becoming so tired that my joy, my passion falls by the wayside
It hurts that we work so hard for things that do not truly comfort us
It hurts that we take so little for granted
It hurts that we take so many for granted
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
**I refuse to wipe myself clean
There is no starting over
There is no clean slate
Every experience, however unpleasant
Is a part of me
So I will not turn a blind eye
I will not delete the memories
I hurt, and I feel
And there is no running from the past
There is only turning the page**
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Do you sense
when I dream about you?
Easier for you to appear
in my subconscious
I suppose
than in waking time
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
You miss us
We inspire you
As do you inspire us
You respect us,
And likewise, we respect you
If it were either one of us,
You'd take the chance
Together are we so intimidating?
We are ready and waiting to help
You take that leap, we will be your wings
On either side
We put our trust in you
To not hurt us
Ready to accept your trust
To not damage you either
The last thing we could ever want
Baby steps
I don't want the moon and stars from you
But a little companionship
And conversation
Any response...
Tell me inconsequential things
Tell me monumental things
Tell me all the in-between things
I want to know you more
I wonder if you talk to your friends of us
This crazy couple who wants you so desperately
Only desperate not to ignore a magnetism so full of potential
How can you deny yourself this?
But no, you wouldn't gossip
You're too private, and respectful for that
Just another of your fine qualities we admire
Detached, floating above the world
In your uncertainty
I would tell you how I've missed you
If I thought you were staying
But I'll not waste my breath if you're walking out again
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
The rain whispers, and the wind answers back
The trees titter their opinions,
and the crickets sing a symphony
The night hums, but the Moon
She is silent
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Some day we'll find a young woman
Who fits
So easily
The connection
Undeniable
I don't expect it to happen
Instantaneously
Or anyone to run
Headlong in our arms
Or accept everything blindly
Even just a tentative hand
And an open mind
And an open heart
We'll help her from there
But the waiting...
Soft skin, and a soft smile
The spaces between my fingers ache
Slender digits clasped in mine
On the one hand
The other hand is full
Strong grasp telling me everything will all be okay
Not lacking
I just have more love to give than this
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
(This is the second installment of a two part piece. Please read first Cut Apart.)
He takes up a needle
Threaded with a glimmering strand of surety
Pierces my pink flesh, tender,
already thrumming with awareness
Following my self-otomy,
I would not have thought
to feel any more pain
But there it is
Slight, though
And a relief each time
he pulls the wounds closed
I observe the first sutures,
calmed by his confidence
Puncture,
pull,
puncture--
He hands me the needle
I can't expect someone else to do all the healing
I pull the thread taut
We alternate for a while,
him piercing, me nipping
And then, before I pinch another hurt closed,
I reach in to extract the dead bits of my soul,
blackened with disuse
Refuse now,
no need to carry these within me
Pull
I am now devoted to my task
Bruises fading already
Some gashes will forever remain a softer pink testament
to true traumas
But no more concern if I will heal properly,
no thought of chronic infection
I have been forced to analyze my frayed heartstrings
Some scars I bear, but as I am stitched up
I become my own inoculation
My soul's surgeon
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
(This is the first installment of a two part piece; see next Together Again.)
He pins me down
his gaze binding me more than any straps
My eyes skitter away until
crack
A fissure spiderwebs across my shell
Slowly the cleaving begins
A dull burn
Picking at scabs and old hurts
Layers I've grown over myself
are peeled away at his words
"Who gave you this one?"
"Why did you let them?"
"Who are you?"
"What do you want?"
"Who do you want to be?"
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Raw
Vulnerable
I strain to look away, run away, anything
But he makes me look
His look makes me look
At my insides
The queer pulsing of my wants and hopes,
seem almost foreign,
it's been so long since we've been acquainted
The wounds I thought would never heal,
or had finally healed,
or have almost healed
And there they are again, exposed
The tears burn, and I try to look instead
Inside my mind
Turn it off
They don't still hurt
They never did
They never meant much
But still they ache
It's darker in there, inside my mind
and if I stare too long, the darkness will creep again
Can't hide within
Can't look without
And a whimper escapes my throat
as I yearn for a salve, and a salvation
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC