I ask the same questions
that there are no answers for, yet.
over and over
probably two or three
times a week.
It makes my partner frustrated.
He says, " when I have answers I will give you
then you can make your plans."

I go quiet
as manic tornados
swirl, tearing down
tall buildings
in my mind.

I need reassurance.
All the time!
tell me things you like about me?
say five nice things!
Four times
a week.
He brought this up
in group therapy
and everyone
unanimously
agreed,
It's ridiculous for someone to ask such things from someone.
                   I don't like
                   my personal life
                   being a topic
                   with people I don't know.
                    yeah, I care what (some) strangers
                   think about me.
                   He hangs out
                   and talks to them
                   outside of therapy.  
                    they can feed him reasons
                    to leave me.
                    My secrets
                     have been passed
                     from palm to palm
                     like a drug deal.
                     Done in broad daylight.
                     Slipping a fifty for
                     a gram bag.
                     paranoia, I know.
                     So yeah,
                     that made me insecure.

This topic was brought up
in a passionate
disagreement.
Between my partner and I.
                   Coming to the conclusion
                              I'd stop.
            I hate to be the cause of frustration
            to the person I'm in love with.
            So obviously I stopped asking that.

Both these things and more
make me feel misunderstood.

That my reasoning for this
                                           and that.

I don't lick the red
sauce off a finished plate
of spaghetti.
I'm not greedy
you see.
Just trying to walk with
an umbrella
through the hail storm.

                                    This noggin of mine
                                    roars.
                                   Out of loneliness
                                   from months of no sun.
                                   I'm Alaska at times
                                   six months of darkness
                                  and six months of sun.

          no in-between.

I softly ask,
"What else is there,
that I do
which upsets you?"
I
can
change-
for the right reasons.
He hesitates,
saying he didn't
want me to stop
that
those
things
make me
who
I am.
But the
prescriptions
try and
help me to
           stop.
Therapy also
aids in this as well.
       So why not just tell me,
anything else?
He gives me a couple of
things I do:
"How I take personal jabs at him."
                      I wonder back to
                      when did I
                      how could I
                      do such things..
                      and realized I'm the culprit
                      it springs out
                      from unresolved
                      hurt.

To be honest,
isn't that why
we all
do things
at times?
That's why
I spin
and spin
barefoot.
Taking a drag
and a jab
why
my thoughts
can be
a noose
or
a crown.

Let's see
what survives me
after all the storms

I count each thread
woven together
in my sheets.
Thirty-one days in March
thirty days in April.
maybe even a week in May

Time drags when you're waiting.
Right now I'm waiting
to purchase a round trip plane ticket
just to end up next to someone
twice your
size and
their elbows
stabbing away at your rib.
For lay overs and seeing
people wearing face mask.
Coughing and foreign languages
coming from every direction.
Eye ***** staring at you
you glance over,
the brave ones hold their gaze
while the others veer away quickly.
Traveling for hours can be a pain
in my full round bottom.

Twelve hour flight to land
to an arm extended out for love.
Taking an Uber to our hotel room
228 on the second floor.
This time it won't be awkward.
No
asking if I want to cuddle.
There'd be no soft kisses asking
If the other can come in.
I imagine as soon as the
luggage hits the floor.
Your fiery body and snake-like
curls moving closer
and just as mojitos are made
mint would be
muddled into a tall glass
with sugar
soda water
and yes ***.

I'd smoke afterwards
maybe have some wine.
None for you though
You've given that all up
cold turkey
but still I'd offer you a glass
and a drag.

This all takes time
you see.
Rome wasn't built in a day.
God, it kills away at me
especially since my spirits are either
very high or low-
never in-between
with my mental condition.
So the threads on my sheets
feel as barbed wire some nights-
soft as sin on others.

It's the hardest part,
waiting.
You phone
I write.
All the time we spend
on video calls.
But it's not enough for me
To get attention
I'll try to pick a fight
some are playful
like last nights.
They start off thick with frustration
but we end up teasing each other
until we're smirking
and laughing.

Other times they're
full of passion
and miscommunication
or simply because the fact
your obviously
not
******* here.

My therapist tries
to reason with me,
" Looks like he's moving forward,
it's not the desire to come or not,
just the time frame."
I hate when
things are up in the air
and you hate when I ask
questions you don't have answers to.

So I'm left to
tugging at threads
waiting for the green light
to go.

Here I am
another Saturday
I've woken up
with a smokers cough
heaving
at my lungs
like a slow roasting
fire
I've been
smoking
more cigars
lately

Usually seven
would last me
about a week.
Now that many can
only hold it down for
three days
maybe four

I drag myself out of bed
fumble around searching
for my glasses and of course
the phone
I manage to
slug myself to
the bathroom
pop an
Adderall
make my way
out to the porch
I light up a smoke
the cold wind
strikes my
exposed body parts
giving me the chills
**** Texas weather
it's either too hot
or too cold
kind of like me

Still

it doesn't stop
my routine of
having a few hits
my will power
is a slave
to the
rituals.

As I sit there
mean mugging
the cloudy but
still bright sky
I feel the Adderall
kick in
I'm ready to
tackle
the list of chores


With a toothbrush
and some foam cleaner
I scrub
at the bathroom sink
each little blob of
tooth paste spit
gets focused on
and scrutinized
just as I do
with my insecurities

Tossing a foaming
cleanser bomb
in the toilet
it volcanoes up to the brim
kinda like my emotions
have been
these past
few weeks

I scrub at that for a while
living with two boys
can cause **** to go
and get
in
to
everything

I hand wash all of
my black stockings
in the tub
rinse and
wring them out
and hang them
one by one
on the shower pole

There
as they drip
getting ready
to be worn
through the
work week
I sit on the
edge of the tub
and write this poem
despite all the ****

it was still a good Saturday morning

H as in, How could you do this to me?!
H happens when you least expect it!
H for, How happy are you now?
H to, Hello all my unanswered text and calls!
H is to, Hell with promises
H is the first letter in the word Helpless
H isn't the letter f for **** all of this.
H for you're always at a party and never Home.
H for my name is Hope
because that's what I was full of
before I met you.

H is what does she have that I don't have?!
H for , our Holidays were fixing to be together
H for I feel like a stupid ***
H is for, Hoes have feelings too!
H is for, to Hell the fact your name begins
with an N and not giving a **** what
this is all doing to me.

H for humiliating your so called "nagging wife"
who wanted good morning texts,
"What are you doing?" responses
and letting me know when your making
plans without me.
I only wanted to feel a
part of your everyday life
because you're so far away!
Yeah
but to hell with that too right?
As long as you get out
of the cage that is me.
Yes, to hell to the 2 years of love
because **** taking accountability
             This final H is for
              Hope this poem finds you
               because I haven't been able to...

Carry me in the wind
from the funeral of my heart
a cathedral of loneliness dies
the moment
you spoke my name.

This heart aches every moment
your hands carve into my soul.
Reaching through my soil
up rooting the dirt
exposing the corpse that is me.
Love's violet hues consumed with you
I'd die again
        and again
                  to be buried in your love

An unmarked grave
drowns in shades.
Whiskey as dark as your gaze
cooled with whispers of water
to smooth the taste of your fire
an ember lost in snow-
housed within cemeteries gates.

Usher me in a casket
classic and romantic
silk pressed with satin pearl.
Dye these roses to match the
tattoo vines that cage your arms.
keep me in your embrace
held closer than death.
use my ribs
   fragile and thin
       to break into the woman
          that lies
            helplessly with you.
Casketed in me, casketed in you.

touch me gently
kiss me slowly
      escape in us
        chisel a path that
            death herself can't break free of
               let this moment outlive the grave.

your loose tobacco is
   still on my bed side dresser.
on a brown rectangle tray
  dried out leaves
    shriveled from lack of moisture
     along side a vase of dead roses.
       even the moon dims it's gaze
       it's silver light thinner without you.
         everything mourns your departure

   this house feels less than in your absence.
    i miss you, so i wear your clothes  
  no longer does lace grace these hips
    nor silk lay on this flesh
      for your palms are far
     from the peach orchard
    heavy showers
  cast dew on hand held mangos.
    it's been days
  since I've coated my pucker
   with red cherries
     for your lip stain is far from me.

       when the moon brings the cold
      the stars spill
      their ***** tonic waters.
     celestial bodies drink and weep
   pouring gallons of salted rose on
  the open wounds in the marsh.
    
         Lilies brush the scent
       of apple crisp,
       that refreshed the skin
        between my breast
        where you laid
         and I cradled your crown
         sweet scents of beautiful
            feathered doves
      
         all the night long
        I seek you in my bed
        where your ghost
       offers a bouquet of ripe
    grapes—their sweetness
    crushed by the weight of waiting  
    reminding me I've pressed your wine
      I tango with the shadow of amor
       keeping this heart beating
        tormented but clinging
          sugar coated covenant promise
             that I'll hide under my tongue
              until the day
               you're back home again.

I told him that I needed some space.
That I think if we had it
we'd be on better terms.

So he gave it to me..
the space between his shoulder
and elbow.
Some space on his chest
where I could rest my
oh
so
tired
head.

There
right there
where his heart beats
the fear right out of my skin.
There is where I slept,
longer than I normally
would have.
My manic mind
usually puts a
choke hold on sleep
much later in the night.
He slept too, even
though he hadn't been
awake for too long.
'Go ahead and rest my love '
is what he spoke to me.

Sometimes all we need is a little space.