You packed my things
While I was still in your t-shirt.

Boxed our tentative plans
With your hand still on my knee.

Piled up your empty promises
While your scent lingered on my skin.

Silently drove me home
Only to arrive elsewhere.

He caresses my jaw
Like fine china.

He gazes at me
As if I were rare.

My hands are shaking like
I'm going through withdrawals.

Knobby knees are weak
From the sheer sight of him.

I feel I am a mere mortal;
He is sure I am a goddess.

This poem is like one large knot.
I'm failing to unravel my thoughts;
Struggling to get my point across.

This poem isn't right.
Mulling the feelings over all night.
Revising only to continue to revise.

This poem isn't what I want it to be.
Typing it out before pressing delete.
Leaving each line incompl-

I see myself in her...

Back when I was made of ice,
Every slice and bite precise.
Grandmother's collarbones like
Soft skin cut by knives; birdlike.

I see myself in her...

The treadmill is her best friend.
Against herself, she contends,
Stuck in a world of pretend.
Her own skeleton: her friend.

I see myself in her...

Grandmother chilled to the bone.
Present summertime unknown.
She's carving her own tombstone,
Out of her sharp hipbones.

I see myself in her...

Was that how they looked at me?
With confusion and worry?
Was I the storm on the sea?
Or the dark depths underneath?

Afraid to drive north;
Highway leading home.
To my mother's porch,
Food I can't ignore.

This time late last year -
Planning for the flood.
The torrent of tears,
My throat red with blood.

Attempting to hide
My light-headed days.
Mother mortified
Of my dark gray haze.

The carpet soaked through;
Salty tears the cause.
The growth of mildew,
Over my clenched jaws.

Fearful to return
After the downpour.
A second downturn
Leading toward the war.

I am stuck;
Even in a world of "body positivity".
Continue to be lost
In my nit-picky ways.

Overcritical of
The "beautiful" rolls of my belly.
Picking at
The "lovely" flesh of my thighs.

Recovery should
Be a walk in the park.
The walk where I
Stop and smell the roses.

But it's a tiptoe
Through my every fear.

A crinkled face...
At every turn.
A piercing voice...
Invading my thoughts.

I might have
Put on the weight.
But I don't believe
Much has changed.

I tried to collect those moments
Like I collected sunsets.
Trying to save them in the mason jars
Of my mind.

The upward curve of his lips;
Pink clouds.

Eyelashes on my cheek;
Deep purple hues.

Those seemingly perfect seconds
Here and gone again.
His brightest colors; my favorite flashes
Shown in a instant.

Tender touches;
Vivid orange.

Soft exhales;
Pale blue.

I remember pieces of his sunset;
Snapshots of mine.
Perched in jars on my window sill...
Absent of time.