If I could still write poetry-

I'd write about how you betrayed me.
I'd make it a lyrical nursery
That gently cradled all my insecurities.

They'd bounce around from wave to wave,

Like an ominous symphony.
Synomous to love,
yet fueled by defeat.

If I could still write poetry.

I'd write about being second best,
I'd write about loosing you, and
Above all else- loosing rest.

If I could somehow still write-

Maybe this feeling would flee.
Perhaps then I could show you.
Perhaps then you could see.

My friend said she would turn into a cloud
         I told her that's physically impossible
She warned me her form was fading
         I was occupied elsewhere
She asked me if I wouldn't help her stay
         I didn't think anything of it

And when I turned around

                     She was gone.

I know that only a month has passed
since your lips have met mine with such care,
but each soft kiss seems to only last
those few seconds, and that's hard to bear.
You are the girl who has changed my days
from wishing to having, so quickly.
Your smile that I've given such praise
is the definition of beauty.
Your eyes, the mirrors of my smile,
are the purest brown I've ever seen.
You catch me gazing, all the while
I think of how much to me, you mean.
No feeling on earth can match the one
we get when we're alone together.
Your radiance rivals just the sun,
and like the sun, will last forever.
I know at times it's hard to sit there
working, while others have less to do.
You know as well as I it's not fair,
but you also know it's worth it too.
I patiently await the day when
You're here to softly kiss, gently hold,
and forget about how long it's been,
as our bodies touch, no longer cold.

Liner runs thin
as I examine the skin
where I look for a tell-tale mark
Left of a ring that would prove
I'm not alone.
(it's not there)

My back arches and
my body quakes
as deep inside
Infantile sexuality wakes
as my lips let fly
assumed and guessed sighs
of fabricated pleasure
(whatever that is)

They did not teach me these things
I was left to assume
as hearts often do
when they are kept in a room
and ushered away from the pains and joys
of Love

I stare into a mirror
and I stare back
Until all of a sudden
my smile cracks
and I'm left to stare
into the eyes of one
born to lose.

I hug warm pillows
and stroke my own hair
Until I realize he
is not
wasn't
and will never be there
and I'm left to assemble
a Shattered Glass Heart
with nothing but hammers for tools

But then I see myself
beauty and flaws defined
and at this point I know
the only glass heart I need
is mine
even in pieces, it retains it's strength
and waits to be whole again

So dormant I sit
mesmerized by the prisms the pretty pieces make
as I wait
for a true artist to come
and give this
Shattered Glass Heart
new form
with the heat of reassuring and shared existence
and the grace of gentle words and sweet kisses.

Panic strikes me
as I realize that
I'm alone

Alone for the first time--
and I don't know
what to do with myself

All these people
Insistent beeping, buzzing,
rolling, shutting

My collective mind
Unraveling
Before my eyes as I have
No one to talk to
to
Connect
with

Floundering
thumbing through
my contacts
to find someone

Anyone

To make me feel wanted,
to feel that my company,
even if through a phone,
is wanted, that I am
desirable

As I fold in on myelf
the Layers turning inward,
eating themselves--

The waitress leans down and asks:

Is everything okay?

I respond, muttering:

mmhm.

It's killing me from the outside in
you know...

But I don't say that

As the layers fold,
the only thing that remains
is a scared little girl
just as frightened as she was
the day she opened her eyes
underwater
and looked around
and realized how eerily
vast and deep the water was...

It still scares her.
It scares me.
And I realize
that the one thing
I can't stand more than
Anything
more than death itself:
is being alone.

Why?

Because when I am
alone with my thoughts
That vastness
that deep ocean of nothingness
bathed in a burning, purified chlorine
Haunts me

Because I cannot fill it,
not even with the deepest of thoughts,
the most vivid sentiments
Cannot satisfy the depths
of the reflective blue against
a slate of unfeeling cement