If only you would have told me..
To Stop Expressing myself.  

If only you would have told me
To Stop being my own self..

If only you would have told me
To Stop Disturbing you.  

If only you would have told me
To Stop telling the Truth.

If only you would have told me
That you did not love me.

I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.

Now, her heart lacks a courage
then she knew that she couldn't cry forever....

Is this madness? I forgot to ask her
And how does it feel?

i am a graveyard of withered bouquets
of "writing..." dots in unsent texts
i am a house of cards of daydreams
a food bank of old birthday cakes

no real person can provide you with everything
no real person can provide you with everything

I respect all other religions
It is my religion’s directive

Then my God whispered
That’s not respect for other religions
It’s just another way of justifying superiority

Then my conscience convinced me
To respect other religions
As each religion is good for
Its faithfuls

Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me