I wonder
which of us loves the other more?
Could it be me
because I have always loved
everyone I met without restraint
and thus have more practice?
Or could it be you
because your love must be earned
and you have been saving it
for me?

I googled my username
and the word "poetry" together
to see if you could find my poems
to reread when you miss me.
I paused a second too long
over the bottle of painkillers today;
I'm frightened.

Standing at the kitchen table
Breaking broccoli into fegs
There’s a child clinging to me
And I think
This could be my life.
There’s the background sound of a child saying mommy
And she’s not calling to me
but she could be.
I snap a broccoli stalk
And think of letting a little girl’s dreams flutter away
Of being what was expected of me
A pretty wife
with a husband she grew to love
Trading recipes and not research
Good women
don’t have careers.
I could be happy, maybe.
Snap
another piece of broccoli in the ***
and four children
maybe five
My mother smiling at me
saying I knew you’d be okay in the end.
I don’t know.
It might not be what I want
But it’s something I know I’ll miss never having.
Snap
Last piece in the ***
And I leave it on the stove to simmer.

As a seven or so year old
I hated windy nights
for how they whipped
the poor trees about,
their branches flailing,
because it reminded me
of being dragged by my hair.
And that's how
a bleeding heart is born.

I remember wondering
why anyone would smoke
knowing it would **** them.
I suppose I assumed that
it was for an Instagram picture
of a morning drag and coffee;
for friends and ten minute breaks
But I think it might be learned apathy
because who the **** cares about lungs
when they won't be the first part of you
to crumble into useless, unbeautiful ruin.
Nowadays I feel a lot like a smoker
for someone who's never touched a cigarette.
I'd end the poem here
but I wish, I wish, you wouldn't smoke
and I hope I don't die.

I fancy there's music in my veins
for I must bleed in melodies and sonatas!
to give you such pleasure in hurting me.

I love you
because I know
you want
to take this from me
and say
“Let me do this for you.”
even though
I know and you know
you can’t.
It’s a nice sentiment, though
made nicer by the fact
we both know
“It’s okay. I can.”
Just hold my hand.