plucked
the flowers
from my ribs
whispering,
love me,
love me not.

they left blood
smears across
my skin, left
dead petals
at my feet.

left me the
altar of love
that will never
be mine.

felt it in my bones,
the day I met you.
felt the air around us
vibrate a little bit,
like the universe
whispering in my ear,
welcome home.
swept me off my
feet, swept me out of
my mind. took me too
many silent screams,
too many apologies,
too many scars to realize
the universe wasn't
welcoming me, but
warning me. run, babe.
get out of there while
there's still some of
you left. took me
years to realize I wasn't
swept off my feet but
pulled down by the
undertow.

gently
so gently
you pulled the
threads loose,
set me free

but the relief lasted
barely a moment -
you tied me to
you, chained me,
and even after
you decided
you didn't want me
anymore

you left me
with the shackles
and the bruises
and the empty bed
and the sheets
that still smell
like you.

we’re on the side of the cliff right now
you and i
one of us is about to jump and create a forever distance between us
i used to think you would be the one leaving me on the edge of the cliff at the end
but the constant drama, bad talking and hurt that you’ve intentionally caused has not just guided me over the edge
but pushed me over the edge
I fought so hard for you
I wanted to fix things with you
But my arms are getting tired
My fingers are starting to ache
I can’t hang around for much longer
I’m exhausted
I’m ready to let go
I’m letting go.

Nothing was attached when we met
and I sure as hell
that you weren't the orchid
that I was searching.

The moon wasn't shining
when I first saw you walking with a bursting orange shirt and I promise you that I never felt that you were a meaningful poetry.

But for a few days, your face lit up my boring world, your jokes shined my darkest river, your smile was the sunrise that I was waiting to see,
and my mind was your place that you're always going to be.

But these past few minutes, your voice is the most unpleasant sound I've ever heard, your eyes are the most boring thing in the world, your face is the last thing I want to see.
I don't want to feel like this but I don't want myself to get hurt.
Go on, I'm not forcing you to love me, because I know, all your life, you've always loved her and not me.

I feel so free
After giving you up
And getting back to me.

Your tongue
is an abstract painting,
an artwork born of passion,
each stroke so intricate
yet so abstruse.
Paint with me,
darling.

He starts
cautiously
with small steps

warms me up, back and forth
prolongs his leg, goes
from minuet to pavane

strides old-fashioned deeper
adds quick pushes
then unchains himself
      
from allemande to courante
and leads me into the sixth heaven
slowly flying there sarabande
      
around with me, in expectation
enjoying
each other and longing
      
for the delayed presto
touch on the sensitive strings
ending on the highest note