I'm on a strict diet of
red wine and smoke
as I train for a marathon
of loneliness, self-discovery, and
moving on.

Letting you go was crushing,
and I still fight the
urge at least once a day
to unblock your number
just so I can say hello.

Nearly everything takes me back to you,
whether it's a sunset I know you'd cherish
or a poem I know you'd
want to analyze with me.
You live in the tree's green leaves
and in the smiles of strangers.
I feel you next to me as I
toss and turn in my bed,
and I smell you in the candles
that are supposed to soothe me.

It seems cruel that you can't be around,
and my heart often
threatens my head for *******
a good thing up.
But the good I had with you
was bad for me,
and I know I need to let myself
be broken so that I can
one day be full again.

I'm on a strict diet of
red wine and smoke
as I replace the love I have for you
with love I'm finding of and
for myself.

Tap tap tap*
goes her hand as she
rattles her box of cigs,
packing 'em in before
she hungrily rips off the
cellophane.
Her eyes lustfully stare
at the untouched pack
as she contemplates how it will
taste to put one in her mouth.
Although the Surgeon General
has adequately warned her otherwise,
she slides her fingers around
her chosen poison,
eagerly putting it to her lips.
The lighter clicks, and flames
quickly lap up the tobacco and its
chemical casing.
She inhales, and the raggedy breath
reverberates in her chest,
a sick pleasentness seeping into her veins.
Nothing has ever
felt better, as blood rushes
to her head and her muscles relax.
She lights up one after another
until the pack is gone,
and the cycle begins again;
an inner debate where her head
tells her to leave the addiction behind,
but her heart and body, starting to feel
lonely and withdrawn, insist on another
pack to dull the creeping emptiness.
So back to the corner store she goes,
as he waits behind the counter,
ready to give her another taste of feigned and
unhealthy comfort,
for it's better than being alone,
sober,
and without him.

Saturday night sets in
as a $1 Roy Hamilton's Greatest Hits record
emits soft vocals and
mellow horns
from my speakers.
The intermittent
crackling and popping
scratches against my insides
as I strain to think of
anything and everything
but you.
The warm melodies are reminiscent
of the warm summer nights when
we first began to share time
and hidden parts of ourselves,
drifting into a rhythm that
swung me one-two-three,
waltzing into a haze of unexpected
love.
Little did I know the romantic waltz
would drastically switch tempo,
up and pounding,
beating behind my eyes and against my skull
as I heard the sounds of you
scurrying toward the
nearest exit, tangoing away from me,
and snatching my heart along
with you.
And in came the sound of blues,
slow, sultry, and so full of a longing
for he who lead me
in a dance I had thought
would never end.

Like the white of lightening,
Pulsating its veins against the
Angry purple sky;
Like the wild claps of thunder,
Beating tirelessly against
Windows and doors;
Like the furious scattering of rain,
Throwing punches at the
Asphalt of the streets and sidewalks;
Like a violent summer storm,
You rip my insides apart with
The force of your winds and
****** me up in your
Unpleasant storminess,
And I hate you as much as
The sun hates the rain clouds
Stealing away its glow
While madly loving you as
The flowers love the rain storms
For calming to a drizzle,
Leaving their floral thirsts quenched.

Yet,
I remain dry,
Thirsty,
Desperate for more rain
That never seems to come
In the desert where you left me
Alone.
Or rather,
Where I lead myself
To escape your monsoon.

Shall I ever have a bad day
I remind myself of the way
the green of the trees compliments
the violet of the nighttime southern summer sky;

Shall I ever feel lesser
I remind myself of the way
my mother appears
as her eyes well with tears
of pride and joy;

Shall I ever experience a sense of emptiness
I remind myself of the sound
of my dad's laugh,
of the way my brother always gets
my references;

Shall I ever have a moment of doubt
I remind myself of the reverberations
that hollow your insides
when the guy you like kisses you for
the first time;

Shall I ever forget my purpose
I remind myself of the way it felt
when I saw my nanny's husband on my
graduation day;

Shall I ever doubt the future
I remind myself of
the way I moved on from
my deepest love;

Shall I ever feel weak
I remind myself of
my first days in D.C. as I
stumbled aimlessly through streets
with which I was unfamiliar;

Shall I ever be devoured by ambiguity
I remind myself of
the peace I have felt as I
watch the steady ripples of
the Ohio;

Shall I ever get lost
I remind myself of the
paths I have forged,
of the arms that
extend open;
I may seek resurrection mother nature
offers me
in the sand
I have felt in my toes,
of the grass that has tickled
my back,
of the sunsets that have moved
my soul,
in the water bodies that have sung
me to sleep;
I may be reborn in
the rifts of my
favorite songs,
in the quotes of
my favorite movies,
in the words of
timeless poems;
in the love the world extends
I shall never go without
comfort,
inspiration,
rejuvenation;
I shall never truly become lost
for the world always
finds me.

We met in the summertime,
which I recall because the AC in his apartment
was mediocre at best,
and fans were splayed throughout the
white-walled space as we attempted to
keep cool.

His roommate introduced me,
as he sat with no shirt on,
perched on a wooden chair,
staring intently at a deck of cards.

I think the first thing I noticed was the dazzle of
his smile,
but I can't pretend my eyes didn't veer
to the perfect V that was on display
just above his basketball shorts.

His skin glowed a perfect shade of honey and
cinnamon
in the dim lighting
that emitted from the sole lamp in the corner
of the living room.

I became submerged in a blur of
card games and laughter
and an eerily similar taste in music,
so much so that I forgot it was not he
who I had come to see.

We said goodbye after what
felt like just moments after
we had said hello,
for even though months
had passed,
we had both always done
our best not to
share too much.

Although I have gone to great lengths
mastering how to be aloof,
in that moment I
regretted so much my inability
to emote.

"You make it seem so easy,"
he breathed,
his face welling with discontent,
and I kissed him on the cheek
as I whispered,
"I'm good at making things
look easy."

He had the sweetest demeanor,
and my body trembled
in the gentle strength and
aggressive tenderness with which
he kissed me,
a passionate, bittersweet
exchange, as we became aware
that it might be for the
last time.

I've become so good at
being alone that I had not
even pondered how I might
actually miss him
once he was gone.

I think my lack of visible reaction
hurt him, but I
couldn't bring myself to be
vulnerable, to let down
my guard and tell him
that knowing we were
parting ways made my
insides ache in the most
unexpected and terrifying way.

Maybe we weren't ever
meant to be anything;
that was my thought from
the jump.
But when he looked me in my eyes,
his heart was so pure,
and I yearned to touch
my soul to his.
I settled for combing my nails
through his curly hair
and murmuring sage words,
masking the things I refused
to feel.

He sent me on my way with
his favorite record, and I said
the most unscripted thing I ever had
to him,
that I'd always think of him
when it crackled and popped.

The kindness of what he extended to me,
the vulnerability I saw in his
beautiful, youthful eyes,
the way he softened his tough exterior,
it ate at me the whole drive home
as I cursed myself for being
so cold
and wishing I could kiss him
one last time.

I still haven't been able to
shed a tear, my heart too
frozen to thaw,
but as the Ray Charles
erupts from my speakers,
I stick to my word;
I think of him,
and I ponder on the possibilities
should we cross paths again.

Should that moment never come,
I can still find him
in the words of my poems
and hear him in the
rifts of his record, so I guess, for me,
it wasn't really
"goodbye."