I sometimes think
I could drain my blood
and use it
to write my name
on your walls,
just to hear you say it.
I need you to know me
so badly it scares me.

I believe
it was Neruda
who once said
‘Tonight
I can write the saddest lines’.
Well I guess
tonight,
I can write
books,
encyclopaedias,
libraries
and still never say enough.
You are the words in my sentence
and the poem in my pen,
even now.

The sky
is turning
gun metal.
The ocean
beats more fiercely
now.
Here it comes.
That tsunami –
doubt.
I am small,
afraid,
too battered
and beaten
from previous storms
to hold back
this tide.
You are changing your mind.

Please don’t change your mind.

Under this same
leaden sky,
there are millions
like me.
Each caught
in the cyclone
of their own
lonely hour.
Whose blue hearts
shiver violently
and yet burn
for something,
for someone,
for anything.
As long
as we have each other,
we are not alone.
I am not alone.
This is I tell myself,
always.

A happy ending
is an ending
all the same.
Give me drunk fights
and slurred sharp words.
Give me kisses
that draw blood.
Give me hands
held so tightly
half moons
adorn the galaxy
of your palm.
Give me an imperfect always
any day.

I have been away
for a while.
Too long, I think.
I was not lost.
No,
never lost.
Maybe
just wandering.
But I was always coming back.
Coming back to me.

And you will see me
and you will wonder
who she is,
this woman
with earthquakes in her bones
and stardust falling from her fingertips
like rain upon the desert.
And I will tell you.
I am me.
Without you.
As I was always
going to be.
The wanderer
has come home.

Four
punches
and
I am
down:
I.
Don’t.
Love.
You.