599

There is a pain—so utter—
It swallows substance up—
Then covers the Abyss with Trance—
So Memory can step
Around—across—upon it—
As one within a Swoon—
Goes safely—where an open eye—
Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.

I wanted to
give you the world
but all I have
are these
two small hands
and they
only hold so much

When you did what you did,
I tied my hair back and rolled cuffs into my jeans.
I put on my work boots and started to pick up the pieces of myself that you spent all that time chipping away at.
I let myself look at each one, giving myself time.
It's hard to remember where everything went, but I tried my best.

There were days that I'd sit in the middle of it all and let it overwhelm me. There were days I would pretend you were still here, chipping comfortably away.

I didn't know it'd take so long. I didn't know it'd hurt so much.

But with my sleeves pushed back, I worked and I learned. I learned how to take care of my broken pieces. How to treat them gently and lovingly, even when I felt I had no more love left in me.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but it did.

You did what you did, and I did what I had to.

And suddenly I am whole again.

I want to trace
your lips
with a feather
and kiss them right,
take flight,
and never land
without you.

i don't think anyone will understand
the pain
of being completely abandoned
by the people who are supposed to love you the most.

they sat at the second table from the left.
four girls; one with curly hair to her knees, one with a heart for running, and two who love basketball.
I tried to fit in.
I failed.
a poet is not a dancer.
a poet is not a runner.
a poet is not a basketball player.
a poet is a poet.
I hated this table.
it gave me chills.
I walk past the table, because they cannot hurt what isn't in their reach.