My momma always said
"it's not how big the suitcase is, it's how much you're willing to carry",
and I carried your bag, with its patches
knowing inside was your ***** laundry, that you slowly aired over time.

Even your broken bits, and holed jeans became sacred to me-
the smell of you left after on my skin,
but, you never let me unpack the whole bag,
always kept a side compartment up your sleeve.

And my arm slowly became numb,
when I realized that I still held mine,
even though the clasp was broken-
bits of me strewn about, laid bare for you to see

Though you did help fold  nicely,
you handed my pieces promptly back to me-
I wonder if some fibers stuck, some little bits of me,
like your neighbors dog's hair on your shirt

does my smell come back to you in a rush,
the feeling of our fingers brushing as I handed back your bag?
We are parting at the fork, both taking our separate things,
but are you giving up, or is this a temporary farewell,

before you fly through my door,
throw off your shoes,
set down your things,
and proclaim "sweetheart, have my bag, I'm here to stay!"

Drunk off delusion-
or youth
or the fantasy they spoon fed us from birth

Even in the cynical world of poetry,
and the bildungsroman novels they imposed on us in high school-
I believed that believing was enough

Call it naiveté,
to have known the flaws and still jumped towards your good
without a life line, or a hope

I am free falling into an unknown abyss
trusting  what I know to be concrete
to catch my fall

Hooking up, reeling me in
luring me back, convinced that your physicality
and my heart were tied to the same string-

Each time, as soon as caught, you unhook me,
and throw me back into the muddy waters
of my hope and your indifference

They say there's so many fish in the sea,
but I can't get my line in
when you keep hooking up with me

You can't swim upstream,
if your just a fish in a barrel,
and you get used to being treated like *****, rotting, meat.

My heart fell, my stomach knotted,
I pleaded, I cried, I apologized.
I owned up to the wrong I did to you, and your beautiful trust-
I regret

You don't know, but you're the only one who still calls,
my whole day rests on the notification on the screen-
and I still was stupid enough to mess it up
I regret it

I can't imagine truly functioning without you,
please, please don't shut me out,
please, please still be my best friend in the morning
I regret it, but

Don't worry, the but is there for me,
and my stinking pile of guilt that lies on my chest,
I shouldn't have done it, I hope you forgive me, it's all I have left
I regret it, but I

I wonder if Eve regretted the apple and the fall?
How could she apologize to Adam,
for one stupid mistake, and yet everything was wrecked-
I regret it, but I deserve

I am sorry, it's not enough
I regret it, so so very much
please forgive me, this poem, it's for you
I regret it, but I deserve your anger, be mad-
but still be my friend in the morning?

The gun was fired, the running had begun
before I knew I had joined the race
I could not stop-
I knew the prize was you

Gasping for air, muscles burning
I was so afraid I would weigh you down
that somehow, I had shackled myself, to you
afraid, so afraid to fail, to fail you

The race was a trap
an endless maze spent chasing; you
perpetually assigned second place
but maybe-oh maybe- I'll be enough

Our shackles were built, half affection
and convenience-
a lonely girl
but shackles, they chafe

Somehow the maze becomes a labyrinth,
all roads leading to the end.
For so long I thought I was behind-
but now I turn.

I've been dragging slack weight-
not running a maze, but in circles
never being met halfway
so tired.

I've sat down-
shackles thrown away
you're now free
I hope you know how it feels

*and circle back sometimes, to me

**** you Aphrodite
and your longhaired, perfect-bodied ways-
you ruined the art of individuality
when you exploded and washed me away

You inspire and impassion men,
with your welcoming body, and wanton look
leaving your counterpart grasping, holding, desperate
to a man whose very breath floats to you.

You put her to shame-
aware for the first time that her thighs brush, ******* quite small
she rushes to cover what she is not...
her hair is not flowing golden-
she's not like you- Aphrodite-at all

After you, come your twisted daughters
expanding beauty on a runway or a screen -
a pretty face, a photo shopped image
for less, he'll make you his queen

Your picture pushes others to a mirror,
reminding them of every ugly, and spot they wish to cloak,
for by compare their beauties lost,
for by compare how could they hope to measure up...
So **** you Aphrodite,
and your ethereal taunt to all the women who will never be you.

I tucked my heart into bed today,
folded it in neatly with the blankets
amongst the throw pillows, where no one thinks to look-

I walked out with a smile,
so sure my secret was kept warm and safe-
trusting, I had found a good place

Much better tucked away
than in the cold-
or left within someone's reach

but my heart forgot
about the dreams leaked
into my pillow

Thinking that once shed;
the thoughts became extinct-
but the heart is porous
and soaked you back up

I've had to fight for the words,
Box my thoughts into shape,
and still sometimes I fail to triumph-

Three little lines, and Dickinson's dash
Four to five stanzas-
break this, I think, but every time the words fall into this

So I let the words win,
and the stanzas do what they like-
and sometimes I think I write this thing called poetry.

Hearts shuffle, and skid aside
eyes dance, avoiding or finding?
Emotions flicker across the space left between us-
I don't know the rules to this dance.

We pretend, yet lay bare
everything about me is open to you
and I casually float a suggestion-
a small hope that you could feel for me too.

I know the let down before I start
yet I try again, and hope this time will be the charm
you'll come back when you want something from me

You are allowed to want, and ask, and take
and I will consent, and smile, and feel gratified-
that a boy like you would want anything from a girl like me.

But I am supposed to stay in the place you put me,
like a dog, or a doll left up on a shelf,
except I am not pretty enough to be the doll am I?

I have no choice, how could I-
even on the days when I am not enough,
on the just friends right? days
I sit and hope and wonder if there will be *you're enough days