mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?

mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.

your words wore silver;
but your gaze was golden.

you kept promises;
you held on.

you fed me your words
and I read them with glee.

I held onto them and gave myself to them.

I let you feed on me
as if I was your treasured prey.

I guess I wasn't that spectacular though.

something changed.
you stopped spoiling me with your words;
and for days I was worthless.

then you came back.
you continued with your lead passion;
with the words you knew I loved.

but those days I was merciless had already torn apart your silver;
they stole your gold with selfish regard and broken palms.

you were cold; merciless.
it was as if I had done something;
   as if I held on too tight and made you run

and oh did you run far

I guess I should have known
it wasn't going to last
it never does

maybe I should have left sooner;
played hard to get.

but it's hard when you're always watching.

Loving you was
the most
exquisite form
of self
destruction

but I did it
I did it anyway
I wanted to reach
and touch
the flame
to bite
the fruit
to see
to hurt
and I wanted you to fix it

March 6th- we start talking
9th- we meet
Fast forward to the 17th and we are dating
I love yous every second
5 months later we're getting our own apartment and we've been talking about marriage for a while, at a year

Two years together now- I watch her tear up as she says her vows

The future holds a baby
A house
More children
Graduations
Anniversaries
Retirement vacations

Laughs, tears, screams in between and I know that
In the end I'll be able to rewind
A month
A year
A lifetime
And know that
Your hand was the one I held through it all
Your kiss on my lips every night
Your smile every morning

Flowers are growing
on my body where your hands
touched me last time.

There are seven clocks
in my room
because they help me remember
I am alive
but if I listen to
your heartbeat
I don't need a single one
*of them.