Every poem I wrote,
I wrote for you;
To try and erase
The wounds you left.

Today
I am writing for me,
Because I have realized
That these wounds will never
Disappear.

They will stay.

They will scar.

And they will be beautiful.

They will be gashes
In my flower petal skin
Sealed with gold,
Lacing me back together.

They will spill sunlight
And music
And all the venom
That you have filled me with
Will dissolve.

I will be new.

I will be fresh.

I will grow new
Flower petal skin.

There is no more whiskey
Left in my blood;
There is no more reason
To beg you to come home.

I am not a child,
I am
A woman king;

A flower who has been
Whiskey dipped.

And, regardless,
I have bloomed.

hubris is,

placing the universe in a thumbnail.

"Does it ever stop hurting?"

No, I'm afraid not.

Broken frames of deteriorating people
Walk along the side of the road
Praying for someone to crash their car
Into the hollowness of their chest

And we breathe the same air as everyone else
Oxygen in,
Carbon dioxide out,
But we know it's different
Nothing we exhale will ever have a soft touch
On the earth

People walk,
We stomp

There's a seeking inside our souls
For something irrevocable
But people are known for their fleeting
As we are known for our sorrow

"Does it ever stop hurting?"

No,
The bleeding will never end.

I cursed your heart
Because I saw how happy you were,
With her who stole you
From my loving grasp.

But I should've seen
That it was not you
I should've cursed.
It should've been my heart
That should've been ******.
As I was
Blinded by your smile,
Blinded by your infidelity,
Blinded by her friendly warmth
And the friendly promises.
Assurance to never take you
Away from me.


As I was

A fool, believing.
Blinded by the fact
**That you never loved me...

A vision of black,
Heads bowed,
Women weep as he's lowered into the ground.
His mother cried,
So did I,
People couldn't help but sigh.

The rain flowed beneath our feet,
Into the ground where he would retreat,
A place as hollow as hell,
Where he would never  fit in well.

I look down at my arms,
Scarred and scorned,
I feel responsible for his death,
to his parents I apologise,
I wish to join him;
Every single day,
In the ground,
Where he lay.