I was thinking about us
about our twisted mess
of love and lust

of ****** unfinished poetry
about stars and misery
and damsels in need of a
knight in shining armor

of how you're so gentle
when I crave the opposite
all I ask for is aggression
and you can't even give me that?

I sat down today, meaning to combine
the words "love" and "lust"
(because, dear,
that's all we are)
and all I could come up with
was "lost".

When she was born she had no blood
fresh seawater flowed through her veins
and her eyes were as ever changing as the oceans
And so they named her Galene
after the Greek goddess of calm seas.

She lived up to her name
Calmly wandering through life
looking at and through everyone
with her whirlpool eyes
Seemingly curious
But she never stopped to probe
because she already knew everything.

We knew she did not belong here
with her sandy hair tumbling down her back
and her soft voice
and her bare feet

And so no one was surprised
on a trip to the beach
when she walked straight into the waves
disappearing beneath the surface
and did not drift back up

i watched blankets of people
rip themselves off of you
one by one by one
you were no longer beautiful to them,
the wrong things became important to you
and so
they left and you
turned cold.

i still find you beautiful
but i have divorced my heart from you
there's not much to say when i see you,
not enough space to feel when i'm around you,
not enough affection to resuscitate
all of the moments you let me drown.

i don't want to hate you anymore, but
i don't want to love you either. both of them are
painful, so i get caught in between.

i wish i could wish you a happy mother's day
and feed into your belief
that you are a good mother, the belief you use to cover up
your deep seated self hatred
but i can't.

i will always find you beautiful
but i won't be around anymore
to tell you that.

i wonder if you tell
your piano
the things you used to
tell me.

it doesn't take much for the people here
to part like the red sea
or collapse like paper dolls.

maybe, just maybe, somebody
hollowed out the empty spaces in
the trees at crescent park
just as a secret message to me,
to remind me that it's okay
for beautiful things to feel empty.

One day
When my hair is graying, face is creasing
My husband will be at work
His apathy slowly increasing
And making him a rude ****.
My kids will be at school being fed empty knowledge
Preparing for college
And the TV set will be blaring
I won't be caring
About the static noise filling the beige room,
The news guy speaking of terror and gloom
A blue glare will reflect on the brown stained couch
On which I will be sitting, with a woebegone and wistful slouch
And my brain will drift, slowly searching memory files
Going back for years and endless miles
And I will remember you,
The boy I once knew,
As the boy I never kissed
My eyes will mist
And maybe I'll cry
And give a shaky sigh
For so many reasons, and that lost kiss will merely be one