I have written a lot of poems about
heartbreak
but not a lot about falling in love
I guess it is easier to write about
someone once they are gone
no risk of exposing the heart
to see it stamped on and
handed right back
but today, I want to talk
about the butterflies
and I know
it's cliché
but the way my whole body
flutters around you is not
unlike that of a butterfly
the way my body
explodes with colour
a kaleidoscope of pink
yellow
and green
how they live inside of my
mouth;
falling out when I try and
find the words to speak
and I may find it hard to
write about love
but let me say this
the skeleton of the butterfly
exists outside of its body
and when I am with you
I feel all so exposed
like everything inside of me
is on display
bare
but not afraid
never afraid
so I promise
to breathe poetry
into my lungs
and onto the page
into poems that start
with your name

i see evidence of a life i used to live
everywhere i go

faces of what i think are people i used to
know, but are really just someone i do not
and will never know

remnants of memories scattered around
for me to find, a cruel scavenger hunt i
never wanted to play

the ghost of me lives here in my shadow
always here,
following me around

i think
some days it is the shadow
and i am left straddling the blurred lines
of who i used to be and who i am now
whoever she is

and some days i do not know
which one
i would rather be

Whenever I hear a buzzing
I freeze
my body in fight or flight mode
for the bee, the wasp,
maybe even the fly
or whatever could hurt me really
people will say
"Calm down, it's just a bee,
it can't hurt you"
But the world can be a scary place
I know
I have seen it
I have come back from the dark
too many times to ignore it
fought off monsters too many times
to believe they do not exist
so the familiar humming, low drone
of a flying insect
is a sound many can ignore
and just bat away
but it reminds me of the sting of
many experiences that came before it
so I freeze
and stand on guard
waiting for whatever can hurt me
to pass
never truly relaxing
knowing that things that sting
can come around
all too often.

last month, we had the catch up
we had been saying we would
have for a couple of weeks

you asked me how i am doing
and i said "i am fine" when i
didn't mean fine at all but
where is the word to explain
this absence in myself.

anyway,
you were washing the dishes
and i was transported to
the galley on your little boat

i remember the same sound
when you cooked me pasta
on our first date
and we watched some film
i had never seen before;
i can't remember the one
we left the dishes till
the next morning

but that galley
the small space where i would
have to side step past you to
your bedroom, or the toilet,
or sometimes just as an excuse
to slowly brush against your body
in the small in between

the first night,
after the second time we ******
fireworks exploded
i'm not talking about fireworks
in the belly but
actual fireworks

i'm not sure what colour they were
i could have looked out the window
which had a makeshift curtain made
out of your boxer shorts
but i was more interested in the
colour of your eyes
and how they made the fireworks
feel like they were right there
in that room with us

that tiny room which would not
have had room for anybody else
but that was its appeal i think
that only you and i would exist
there in my memory

only you and i that time
i broke your bed
and we laughed while you fixed it

on our third date
you asked me if i wanted to go to
Nottingham or to ikea
of course i chose ikea
we spent an entire day there
before going for pizza
and i helped you pick out
some draws for your boat

you dropped me off at the
train station after that
where we kissed and you went back
probably to install your new draws
under your bed

that was our last date
and i never got to see the new draws
under the new bed you eventually
also bought

so when we talked last month
and i asked you how your draws
were doing and you laughed
"what kind of question is that?"

i guess the draws don't remind you of me
the same way ikea
and the smell of tobacco
remind me of you

the only thing i bought from ikea was a candle
i burnt it months ago
it smelt like cinnamon and winter
you hated winter scents
thought they were cliché

i think i burnt the last of us
away with that candle
watched us slowly melt away

but i don't think there was
ever an us
really
we existed there
briefly
in that small in between
too small for the both of us
but you knew that
all along.