You brought forward
all of your gold
all of your jewels
all of your shoes
all of your hope
and you received
a stone. Years later
I stand, free, looking
at a piece of nothing
you received in return
for everything.

I'm learning differences
between you

and the friend you were.

What they don't tell you about your heart
is that when you grow it to be loving
to all you meet, and caring
for all you love, then you will swallow
all their fears, until it grows
too big for your chest and travels up your throat
and starts
to choke you.

I have hungered for your music I have
drunk it in like a parched man
upon a desert oasis, after a year
without even the forgiving dew of
the early morning. Your music has been friend
and companion, when I
have had neither. It has warmed me like
the warmest of embraces and filled holes
I was not aware existed. And I
want to tell you- this is a reminder
that you are capable of
anything you set your mind to. Because your music
soars like every bird in the sky and your music
sets me free.

You say tomorrow
like it's a promise, a gift
from you to me and somehow
also a gift from me
to you. You say
tomorrow, and I know
that today can be bearable, I just
have to be patient
and wait these few
ridiculously long hours. You
say tomorrow, almost as if you're
drowning in time and tomorrow
is your lifeline. Like you wait
in desperation, but also a touch
of resentment, as if trying
to be grateful
for your saviour, and not wonder
what is taking so long.
When I whisper
"tomorrow,"
I do not know
exactly what
I am feeling. Are these
my emotions, or am I stealing
yours in order to
feel, or maybe
am I just projecting?

I cannot think of a way to start
writing what I need to say, (t)here
are too many thoughts rushing
around what some might call
a brain, a heart. My mind, my
core, has been replaced by what
some may call an
abyss, a void, but I cannot be
so poetic about what I only see
as emptiness. I suppose
I was always something
of an empty girl, never learning
to be enough for myself, a hollow
shell. You all filled up
that shell, my life, you slowly teach
me to be enough for myself
by showing me that maybe
I am enough for you. You
complete me. Right now the clock ticks
closer to midnight, though, and you
are not here. Call it
abyss, call it void, call
it emptiness, if you so wish. I
call it by its true name, I
call out to the moon in
my desperation, I call
at the walls and the world
and the all-too empty air. I call this feeling
missing you.

Maybe the fact that
pain is what makes me write and
I have written seven poems since
I managed to **** things up with you should
tell me something other than
I'm so sorry.

A mountain
of dead, and I
am not crying, it’s just
a bit of ash that flew
and found its way into
my eye.

Why did I agree, why
did I come here? Every
minute, shards of the
whole that used to be our
mutual existence, turned against
my wishful mind. Looking
back at what we used to be
is like looking at a single flame
against a great darkness, "us"
burns my eyes, until I cannot see
what is in front of me, for
all my memories of our
lost brilliance.

Your wounds do not only affect others. Remember that
when you plunge the knife, your blood
does not exist for the sole purpose of making
others turn their heads. Remember that you
are allowed to live for yourself. That
you do not exist only as a façade, with
no substance. Remember that your wounds
do not only draw in people, remember that they
are your wounds, and ultimately, you will
pay for them.
And remember, please.
Please remember
that love and worry, though they look so similar
on your friends' faces, are not
the same. Remember that you
can be you without your pain. And know
that you exist even
when they are not
looking right
at you.

When I can't remember what I've
told you, know
I have spoken truths, and
spontaneous ones
at that. The words I mean most
are the ones I have planned least.

I wrote you a poem called
days like these, but what I couldn't tell you
is that it's not just days
like those, but every day. Today

could not be more different
from the picture I painted you
with my words. The world is gray, today
and tiny drops of rain

kiss my face, never to be felt
again, not the same rain, not
the same me. Cold air bites
my nose, playfully, as I bump down

the brick sidewalks on my bicycle, eyes only
on the road in front of me, my mind
only on you. I cannot describe
your absence in words, only able

to highlight for you the way
my world looks without you, treading lightly
around the hole that is you, poking
at it like with a tongue at the place

a tooth once filled, if only
to convince myself you truly belong there. You
truly belong here, don't think
you don't. Not just the sunny days

need to be shared, to fully belong
to us. Give me one rainy day with you, rather
than two days of glorious sun, I
would take that any day.

I love you wildly and in exaltation
a joyful shout of passion, sunlight
bursting out of my chest, a warmth
a laugh I cannot contain, a peace
restless in its depth, and you
live in a land of cold, and I
do not know what you think of me, I
do not know if you think of me, I
would that I could, would send you
a gift of this sunshine- everyone needs
some warmth.

As I sit, your helpless screams, echoing
back through time, have become constant, a
soundtrack to my life, when I choose
to listen closely enough. Would that
I could sweep in and rescue you, it
would be done in the faintest
of heart-beats. But I am too busy,
right now, trying to save myself
from you.

I know this house, but it's not home-
my blood has spilled between these walls
my tears have watered this cold floor,
and here my nightmares learned to crawl.

My fingers know each speck of paint
I have breathed in each mite of dust
my eyes have gazed upon each book
my heart still mourns the loss of trust.

I bled in ink, I wept in words
I laid my heart out, beating, bare
I spun entreaties for an ear
I found not one was listening there.

And if I should return someday,
and take my seat back at the hearth-
as dancing flames ensnare my gaze,
know I have gone into the dark.

It's funny how
a minute after you walk out
my room seems so
much more incredibly empty.