to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.

You are not my children,
tender as you are.
You are not my lover,
though you cause my heart to yearn.
You are not my sun,
or my moon,
or my star.

I set you on this rock;
you will not make me burn.

You are simply sticks,
arranged upon the pyre.
You are clever tricks,
though you flaunt my clear desire.
You are not the match,
or the wick,
or the fire.

I set you on this rock;
To see what might transpire.

You will never be a pheasant's egg to be coddled.
You are only this: a calf led to the slaughter.

I sat

in the dark.

Into the corner,

cowered.

Shaken, trembled.

Tears danced and slid,

into the creases of my face.

The tears had that salty aroma and tang,

that reminded me when you squeezed lemon slices

in my eyes and poured salt over the pus.

I didn’t mind then and I still don’t.

My eyes weren’t as red then.

I wasn't alone then.

"she's a bad friend, just a heads up.
I know she seems really great
and fun and understanding.
she's like that, at first.
she'll be positive and friendly, and you'll feel like you can trust her with your most-prized possession.
you'll want to tell her things, even if you're not a very open person.
she has that effect on people.
after a while, though, she starts to seem rough around the edges.
she'll go through very dramatic
mood swings-
she's a bit like the weather in NYC.
sometimes she'll be cheerful
and she'll laugh at the most
random of things.
those times, she'll be like a fresh spring day, around 72 degrees.
other times, she'll be the most pessimistic person you know. it'll feel like she's draining the positivity right out of you. those times, she'll be like a bitter winter's day, below zero and freezing.
on occasion, she'll change
back and forth between those
two seasons in a day.
it'll get to be very tiring for you,
trying to keep up with her many moods and feelings and attitudes.
you won't really know how
to handle her.
and eventually, it'll feel like she's
not really handling you.
she won't talk to you as often as she used to. she wont know what's happening in your life anymore, and you won't be able to remember the last time she told you about anything happening in hers.
eventually, you'll be the only one putting effort into the relationship.
but you'll continue to see her with other friends, laughing and sharing inside jokes and telling stories.
and it'll be so painful for you, because you're technically
still friends with her- it's not like
you had a fall-out or anything.
things will just be different between you two. she'll be distant, and so will you.
eventually, you'll just stop trying
to talk to her. all you'll do is smile briefly at each other in the hallways, sometimes talk for a few minutes about classes.
and it'll almost seem like you're strangers again.
so if I were you, don't bother with her. find someone worthy of your time and love and affection."

She cried and screamed at the edge of that cliff
until she tasted blood in her mouth
and her body collapsed
into the dirt, spent and shaking.
They led her away from the edge,
one officer looking down at the ravine,
her lover's crumpled, broken body
shattered at the base of the cliff.
Two days later, she followed him.

You know more about me
than any stranger should.
You know more about me
than any friend could.
It's not always easy
to post the things I write
Because they are more of myself,
that I don't like to share.
My poems are me and me alone.
I hope you like them,
but more, I hope you like me,
even if I'm a mess.

They said I should forget about you.
That I can't love what doesn't exist anymore.
But to me, you're still so real.
Every last memory is tangible,
tangled threads ensnaring my fingers,
I'm still reaching out for you.

We were young and in love,
what a sad cliche.
You were such a dreamer,
and opened my eyes to art and poetry and music.
I still love all those things,
but they remind me of you,
all so tangible, but intangible all the same.

They said I should forget about you.
That I cannot love what doesn't exist anymore.
But they're wrong.
You still exist
and I don't believe in love.
Not anymore, not with you
gone from this world.