Picasso understood
That most beautiful people in the world
Are unfinished

Still in the process of learning all the letters
To spell out their names

Sketches on a canvas
Waiting for the laughter of paint

When she left him
He knew he could never
See her again and left
Her portrait, a wedding gift
Unfinished

Buried it in the rack
Forgot about it for many years

When he found it again
As an old man
His eyes still full of fire
And the green of sassafras
He took her down to finish her
But couldn’t

Something’s he knew
Were meant to be left
Undone

It's not because I don't love you,
because,
I do.
But you see
it always starts out the same.
I learn about you from a friend
when he tells me your name,
how much he loves you,
all the wondrous things you say
and that I need to get to know you;
today.
The next time I visit that friend,
you're there.
I try to play cool,
desperately trying to hide
how much I really care.
But inside I'm pulsing,
racing,
unable to think of anything
except when can I get you alone
and
when can I make you sing.
After all I've heard so much about you;
hated by those that don't matter
and loved by those that do.
So when it's time for me to leave
you come along without hesitancy
and
at home we get to know each other,
when your arch your spine for me
like you did for your last lover.
I hint at deep intentions
when I ask you to move in;
promising nights in each others arms,
my love and undivided attention.
“I have room for you in my life”
I'll say,
but despite this all
I still might give you away.
It's not that I won't miss you
when you're gone,
but,
the problem is I'm a traveler;
a vagabond.
I move on,
and on and on,
frequently meeting new faces
that hold a wonder for truth;
and they remind me of me
the me before you.
And so,
my darling,
it isn't that I don't love you,
I do.
But I've met someone new,
and this someone needs you.

Most days I wish I didn’t have to get up in the morning

Days where the only thing I ever have to worry about ******* up

is descending stairs gracefully

It was our fathers who told us not to feel

until the day we see them cry

It was our mothers whose wombs fill so fast

we explode back out before we are finished

If I ever find those missing pieces

I’ll dance

Long

And fast

if I ever find the fundamental filaments that keep me from bursting at
the seams

I’ll breathe

Descend stairs gracefully

I have been told that there is power in story

The best way to tell one is to leave out the *******

Let it speak for itself

The little things

The unimportant things

will bleed out

Beauty

"Start at the corners," she said,
"Work your way to the center
Sure

The dog’s head is missing

The birds aren’t in the trees

It doesn’t mean they’re not there"

I’m sorry

I know there are days where I burn at both ends

And not even your cool waters can subdue these flames

I

Regret every word that’s burned past these lips

I didn’t mean to take you for granted

I swear

I didn’t mean to point out your stretch marks and laugh lines

I didn’t mean to forget your birthday  

I

just lose myself sometimes

Like

Last night when I laid in the darkness of our bedroom

And stretched out to feel how cold the other side of the bed was

And I

could hear your voice keeping me awake like white noise whispering
from some other room

And I just can’t seem to turn it off

I know that this is broken and left for dead

Forgotten in a box in an attic in some house

somewhere

Nostalgia’s never seemed so bitter

Because sometimes I smell you

And my heart breaks a million times a day

I got a box of red confetti here

Barely beats

Buckles my knees when it does

Beats me breathless

Holds me under

Keeps me back

Makes me wonder

Where everything turned sour like milk

Mighta seen your face on the side of that milk carton

I’d’ve known

I should’ve let you go

But I couldn’t

Not so soon

If I had my way it’d been never

Now all I got is this sound

White noise coming from some other room

Sounds like laughter sometimes

Sounds like music

Sounds like my heart shatter confetti burst

Feels like crawling skin

The lightest touch that almost tickles

Press harder if you could

I can almost feel you

Sounds like a match being lit

Lettin’ me burn at both ends