Hello. Do you know who I am?
No, I tell her. How could I?

Hello. Do you know who I am?
Yes, she lies. How could I not?

Would I recognize her on the streets?
Would intuition tell me who she was,
even though I could not understand her tongue?
Can you know someone you’ve never met?
Can you love someone you do not know?

I IMAGINE MY MOTHER READING THIS:

How can she write that?
She doesn’t know.

She would not be wrong.
I do not know the whole story.
I wasn’t there, so how could I?

Is it fair of me to write of someone I do not know?

How can she write that?
She doesn’t know.

I don’t think I can stop until I do.

“You *******!” Flung the lady on the soap opera
while my mother painted on her lipstick. She
turned the volume down. I asked my mother
what a ******* is. She said it’s someone
whose parents are not married. I asked her
if that made me a *******. She said it’s not
a nice word. “But I am one.” She said women
can’t be *******. What does that make me? For
every genealogy assignment in elementary
science class, when we listed inherited traits,
I always left mine blank. A piece of white
papered shame, the proof that my father left
my mother. The proof that I am a ******* mistake.
One day, I want to meet the man who walked
away and fill in my blank paper with his passed
down traits. One day, I want to meet the woman
who I must have made so afraid. One day, I want
to prove that I am worth the trouble. The malicious,
******* part wants to make them regret walking
away.

Hold fast
what I give you.
I am an expert
at this game.
Give and take,
take and give.
I stay on guard.
Ready in a moment.
I rip back.
A glance, a word, a kiss-
framed the wrong way-
I dissipate.
If you do not want to break-
disappear.
I stitch my heart to my sleeve,
seam ripper at the ready,
I rip it out of your hands.
What I give you
hold fast.
*
Hold fast
what I give you.
I rip it out of your hands.
Seam ripper at the ready,
I stitch my heart to my sleeve.
Disappear-
If you do not want to break.
I dissipate.
Framed the wrong way-
A glance, a word, a kiss-
I rip back.
Ready in a moment,
I stay on guard.
Take and give,
give and take.
At this game,
I am an expert.
What I give you
hold fast.

I fell in love with the boy before you slowly,
With the kind words dripping from his mouth like molasses,
Sugar coated compliments that melt on the tongue
To reveal sticky lies and deception,
Sweet remarks surrounding insults.

He would trot out his trustworthiness
And give me the names of other girls he loved in the same second.
He would tell me I was beautiful
And a list of ways to change on the same day.
He would swear our relationship was built on anything but ***
And describe his idealization of **** as revenge in the same month.

He told me the worst thing I ever did to him
Was not say I love you even if I meant it more than enough.
The worst thing he ever did to me
Was say it too much and never mean it once.

I am still learning how to not love a ghost,
How to stop painting in rose streaks
Over his terrible actuality.
I am still learning to hate the reality.

I do not want you to become another poem.
For your sake I wonder,
Is it harder to be the girl stuck on someone cruel
Or to be the boy in love with that girl?

In my hours off I wonder
To how many alcoholics
Have I offered wine

The disastrous dilemma
Of looking someone in the eye
And eloquently uterring a lie
Is they will permanently ponder
How many falsities you fancied
Before they cut the tie

He stitches his eyelids closed
And from the kaleidoscope of colors
Formulates a picture from his memory
Of his Emily.
A ballerina encased in satin
Set spinning when the lid of containment is lifted
Graceful, enchanting, alluring
Mapping the stage with movement,
Creating constellations to mesmerizing melodies
He watches from the wings.
She takes flight across the sky
And extends her hand,
Inviting him to join her,
A gift, a granted wish.
But he hesitates.
The words dangle off his lips,
And--
The seam of his eyelids is ripped.
The motion picture stops.
For he is too late.
He is always too late.
And his 'i love you' goes unsaid.