they say write what you know
so here it goes -

I know
that i was dying and you left and saying goodbye didn't even come out of your own mouth
I know
i quit a lot of things that day including wanting to live
I know
that if i regained the will to live after that then i can regain the will for anything
I know
that i used my body as a cutting board for your opinions
I know
that you think i gave you my worst and that's why you left
I also know
that if you couldn't handle my worst you can't come back saying sorry and expect me
to give you my best
I know
that i am proud of who i am
I know
that my heart may not be bullet proof but it is fool proof and that makes all the difference
I know
that you are a fool
I know
that losing me was your loss, and it's time
to put on your big boy boxers and deal with the remnants
of a deformed heart and a brainwashed mind
I know
that i did not feel safe as a child or as an adolescent
but that does not mean that i have to feel that way now
I know
that you made me feel judged and unsafe and unloved
and used and worthless
I know
that i don't need you now to feel okay
I know
that forgiving is not forgetting
I know
that i don't forget
I know
that if someone doesn't love you enough to stay with you
then they don't deserve you in the first place
I know
that silence is louder than *******
but that doesn't stop me from writing this anyway
I know that
i'm stronger than your fickle words
and the lack of character and compassion
they reflect.

Intuition -

not a thought,
but a feeling.
It's the wild woman inside of me,
that keeps me strong despite
the storm.

It's a strange and sometimes subtle
truth.

It's louder
than ever before.

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

I cannot wait until
You and I
Can wake up
With bed head.

Can't wait until we
Can have dinner
Together.

Can't wait to
Argue about chores
And who does what.

I can't wait to
Fall asleep in our bed
The one we make love in
And call you my husband.

I just finished texting you on December 31st
Sunday night, or maybe you consider that a Monday morning
and a country song just came on the radio
I couldn't help but to think about how much I hate country music
I hate the stereotypical voice the singer always sings,
the predictable pattern of strung guitar strings
So, at 2:24 am, on a December 31st, Sunday night/Monday morning

I started to wonder if you liked country music
Or believed too that it's tacky
I wonder if "tacky" even exist in your vocabulary
Where did you get your vocabulary?
Did your mom raise you to believe words would be your greatest ally
Was she raised with more than one language
I wonder what your ancestor's native language sounds like
And if it was ripped out of their tongues
Like culture in our history books
what stories were told from those tongues that history books could never tell
I wonder, what kind of stories you've carved in lover's mouths
with just your, tongue.

I wondered if you've ever lost someone
I wonder if you've ever lost yourself
If you did, where did you find yourself?
Did you find yourself in your palms over bent knees
That kissed the ground that at one time
kissed your feet.

I wonder when we'll meet
I wonder if I'll meet your best friend. If shell ever get scared
You'll replace her with me
And if I'll have to tell her, she's irreplaceable.
I wonder what's your favorite places you've been to
The places that made you smile to your human anatomy's most potential
And I wonder how much you know about your own human anatomy
I wonder if you know that an average heart beats 100,000 times a day
Pumping almost 2,000 gallons of blood through its chambers
Over a 70 year lifespan, that adds up to about 2.5 billion heartbeat
And sitting here, just wondering about you- you made me skip a few.

It's now 3:07 a.m.
And I'm wonderin' if you've ever wondered what it would be like to be loved by a poet
To have your body be put words and your words be put against my body
To have lips match figurative language to the figure of your body
And write love poems on your cheek
And I wonder if you even consider me a poet.

What are the events in your life you consider poetic?
If your life was a poem, what kind of poem would your
8th grade English teacher categorize it as?
If you were a curious child and if now
You're ever curious about me
If my mind ever wanders while I wonder about you
And if I could ever weaver it back

At 3:21 a.m., December 31st, Sunday night, Monday morning
I'm wondering if you're wondering about me.
Or if you ever wonder if I've ever lost myself, but more recently, lost my mind writing poetry

I wonder if you wonder if I consider myself a poet.
I wonder, if at 3:27 am, if you're awake too,
Wondering if I like country music.

I’m older now so I try to forget

But I get flashbacks

Of the every weekend endless parties

The music the drinking the smoke the laughter

The audible hell that was

The garage

The pretend family that was

Us

Me walking in to play you a song before bed

Which would turn into

You drunkenly doing your best at showing me how

To play Satie’s Première Gymnopédie


Which would end in me wondering how to say goodnight

While you would cry silently about nothing

On my shoulder.

I’m older now so you think I’d forget

But I remember

The first birthday you had after your brother died when

You downed a bottle or three in the span of an hour or two

I went upstairs to make sure you were okay

Only to find your friends had carried you from

The garage to your bed

Which made for the most perfect

Stumbling distance

Any drunk could ever imagine.

I’m older now so I pretend to forget

But the memories crumble with clarity at night

You, opening the bottle at five and passing out at one or two in the morning

Only coming in the house to **** and eat and banter

Oh, the endless banter

I had fun with messing with your mind and playing with your words

When you were gone

As you so often were, every night of my

Entire span of pretending to blossom. I never knew who you were going to be -

“Your dad is a drug addict you know. He’s not perfect either. What are you staring at?”

“Oh baby, you’re so brilliant. You know that?! You’re brilliant!”

“I miss him so much. I’m so so sad and lonely…”

“It’s not all about you, you know. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I learned how to be a numb construction worker,

Constantly working on the foundation of the walls

I was building to protect myself from you.

I’m older now so you’d think I’d forget,

You’d think the memories would fade with each passing year

You’d think the wounds would have healed by now,

You’d think I could call myself a strong young woman.

But I can’t, I’m tormented by remembering, I’m haunted still

I am a ghost

The voices yell at me, tell me to throw in the towel already,

Get rid of everything what a waste of space. They sound like you.

Sometimes I miss it, I miss the hell that was living with you.

I miss the consistency, the predictable time-frame in which I could depend

On you to be emotionally unavailable. When I close my eyes, I can still see

Your silhouette swaying in the hallway, your hand fumbling for the light switch

The demon that would come out of your mouth every time I said

I love you.

But I’m older now, I try to forget.

I half succeed in daylight

But the memories crumble with clarity at night

The memories crumble with clarity at night.