Yesterday you came to my door, took the blade from my shaking hands and closed the wine I had been drowning in.
You held me and cried with me and for an eternity we made no sounds at all because there were no words that could fix me. Your words were the first to cut through the quiet. "You are so good," you said. You are so good. You are so good. I let the words bounce around in my soul and tried to hold on to them but they felt to heavy to contain. We said nothing else and you kept your arms wrapped around me until the sun was peeking over the darkest night and heavy eyes gave in to sleep.

We woke up and you cleaned me up and tried to sweep up all my broken pieces, still knowing that no one else but me would be able to recreate the shattered glass puzzle. You sealed the sharp jagged edges and shards of my shattered soul in a plastic ziploc bag, paying close attention not to leave a single piece behind. You placed me gently next to you in the passenger seat of your car with the busted radio, shifted into gear, and tried to drive me away from the bad.

We drove to New Jersey, to the cold, eerie, but peaceful January beach. We walked barefoot, side by side, me finding solace that I was still here and I could see my footprints stretch behind me on the shore, and you still clutching my bag of broken pieces and letting it swing slowly by your side with each stride.

I stood with my feet in the crashing waves and breathed in the salt air, letting it fill up my lungs with each purposeful breath. I tried to exhale the pollution and toxins of the past year, and felt the waves softening my sharp edges each time they pulled back to the ocean abyss.

On the walk back, my foot prints had already been washed away by the soothing salt water. But, for the time being, I was still here. I would keep going, keep making new foot prints, and keep trying to piece myself back together. Still, I found serenity knowing that if I was unable to solve the puzzle, my broken soul could someday become a part of the ocean, and be smoothed down by the currents into something beautiful. Perhaps by next year, the sharp pieces of my soul would be softened by the artist of the ocean and scattered across the shoreline like a beautiful sea glass mosaic, waiting to be picked up by a curious beach goer.
Even broken can become beautiful.
It will be okay.
Happy New Year.
Time to go home.

You
Liked
My
Hair
Long
So
I
Cut
It
Short
.

I do not want to sleep
Because though I know
I'll dream of you
,
When I wake
I will have to lose you
All over again

*(I have become
A very tired girl
Who lays awake each night
And dreams of you
With eyes wide open)

This week’s case of the Mondays
Entailed plummeting
Into an inescapable hole  
Rubber clashing with jagged asphalt
Trailed by a pop!
Precisely slicing a crescent shaped space
In the preferably airtight place

I remembered
With an abrupt smack
In the face that the one
who was supposed to teach
His petit chéri
The science of swinging a bat or
Changing a spare hasn't
Been there to care let alone
Disclose ins-&-outs
Of tire repair

You were supposed
To toughen me up
And teach me how to
Make a 3-pointer / 3-point turn
And how a boy should treat me -
Or that I could survive
Without one at all

Still-
I have embraced
Evolved and
Learned to be tough

I may not be well-versed
In car mechanics but
I’ve learned to survive
With a flat tire father

A vehemently charged electric shock of events
Made an innocent trip to The City to visit a friend transgress
Into a less-than-innocent night in a more-than-pocket change hotel room
Behind the closed door, conversations were tasted instead of heard
Fingertips grazed and hungrily circled inner thighs

For two restless hearts who searched for dreams
In the affectionate eyes of someone else instead
Of their own shut eyes and a resting head in bed,
The City that Never Sleeps seemed the most peaceful
At five in the morning in a bed with two lost souls tangled
Together, a jigsaw puzzle of legs arms and misplaced emotion.

She found her oxytocin from his soul-warming coffee laugh,
His black rampant hair and the inebriating feeling of being wanted.
He found his from a backwards desire to repair himself by fixing her,
By making her feel safe with a theatrical saint-like performance until
The vulture he masked overpowered and devoured her.

She is simply a coffee addict, hooked on his warmth and
Deliciousness and his laughing mocha eyes that resemble
Hot black coffee mixing beautifully with milk and sugar.
She’s dependent on the quick fix of brewing a fresh strong ***
Of happy! percolated with objectification flavored beans
Until she finds a way to concoct the happiness without the beans.

He, on the other hand, harbors something far more sinister.
For while she only intended to drink in his warmth
And let him drink hers in return,
He consumed her whole
Spread his wings
And instantly returned
To making circles in the sky.

You will get over him
You will get over him
You will get over him

I repeat to the blurry reflection in the mirror
Of the hollow girl with perpetual
Tear streaks stained on her cheeks.

But what am I to do
About this gigantic hole?
This huge gaping chasm in my
Soul that makes my chest tight and
Makes each inhale and exhale a fight?

My world is still capsized
From the crater you created
When you let me slip away.

When will my heart stop seizing?
Or will it just stop beating?

“You explode in me here and there, now and always; you are causing a brain seizure in my ******* heart. I’ve been so actively lethargic, I am in ******* literal pain without you”
- Ernest Hemingway