You always said I had no passion.

You said it so many times, it became ingrained.

Perhaps if I had discovered poetry while we were together,

perhaps then you would have stayed.

Or maybe this is how it was meant to be.

Maybe it was you that I was meant to lose.

So I could discover this zealousness inside of me.

So I could make you my muse.

The entire room is spinning

and I’m not sure where to point the blame…

Was it that 4th shot of whiskey

or your lips continuously summoning my name?

When you ask me to communicate my feelings for you,

my mouth becomes weak.

My tongue is still bound by previous lovers

who did not care to hear me speak.

Time is a tricky thing...

the way it flies by
when we're together,

but yet feels like eternity
when we're apart.

the way it's capable of
healing my soul,

but also of
breaking my heart.

As I prepared my body

to house new life,

you privately decided

you no longer wanted a wife.

Rainy days always remind me of you.

Not the kind of memory

you look back on with fondness,

but one that brings with it a sense of relief.

It seemed your sadness was always

the worst on those days.

As if regret fell down with every drop of rain.

The forecast is calling for several days of showers this week,

but within this new life, that prediction just doesn’t seem so bleak.

Love is both my best friend

and my biggest foe.

An ally and an enemy.

A blessing and a curse.

A drug that leaves me both healed

and yet feeling worse.

My mistake for thinking you cared…

I

guess

you

go

down

on

everyone

for

breakfast.

My body is clay,
mold me as you desire.
This bedroom is the kiln,
I’m ready for the fire.