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solus Mar 30
i think
i made you
too
much
space

when i let you in

i think in trying
to let you make yourself
at home

i gave you
real property

put your name
on the deed.

you
don't live there
anymore

don't visit
don't write
     and that's okay

we've long since
gone our
separate
ways

parallel lines

different
people

but what a greedy thing
to do

leaving
like that

but still keeping
your little plot of land.
solus Mar 23
the fear
that after all this
time, all this
mess, all this
fight

that I will only lose
you to the
war in your
mind
solus Mar 23
the way it feels to lose -
the unbecoming of
souls never whole
to begin with,
the ruination, the
constant chatchatchatter
of unanswered thoughts
and untended wounds,
how the disruption
flows from one disaster
to the next, a never-ending
cacophony of whywhywhywhy
until one day the
blade doesn't hurt
the gun isn't so heavy
the pills don't taste
so bad

it is one thing to be told
to use a sharper knife next time.

it is entirely different
to be told I will one day lose you
to the echo and you
wonder
you
wonder

why I am so scared
to push forward
when the image of
finding your body, your brains,
spread out across
the bathroom haunts me
almost as much as the
image of someone someday
finding my own.
solus Mar 23
there's a trail of my blood
that runs from one of this
down to the other, right
up the steps to my front
door.

this town has seen
all my ugliest momentss
and yet I am still here,
sleeping in the same bed
cooking at the same stove,
living in the same house
I grieved so many losses in.

this town is home and hell
and I want to escape just
as much as I never want
to leave and it depends
on the sky and it depends
on the day and it depends
if I see your faces, or my own,
in all the memories it carries.
solus Mar 17
my therapist asked me to take inventory of what I need -
to think of myself in my moments of trauma and
give myself the love I needed but didn't have.
these are the questions I don't have answers to -
what do I need now? what did I need then?
a hand to hold mine while I walked, soaking
in my own blood, halfway across town
because I was too scared to ask for help?
what did I need in that clinic, looking
at the shape of the child I couldn't keep?
someone to tell me it's okay? someone to
take my hand and run?

I think of her sometimes. I am quite certain it
would have been a her. I think of her little
body inside of me, starving and struggling
just as much as I was, and I feel guilt. guilt
for this body that couldn't sustain us both.
guilt for giving her an identity in my mind
when she wouldn't ever be /anything/. guilt
for not wanting her. guilt for how quick
and impossibly difficult the choice was. I feel
loss. how can you grieve a being you never
intended to keep? never wanted? how can I
feel loss when she was never mine in the first
place?
solus Mar 17
every quaking breath,
every flash of memory,
every little puzzle piece
I could never make fit -

absence, too, is a gift.
solus Feb 19
we take what we can get
but the well never fills -
water slips through fingers
and again and again
we are left begging
with open, empty hands.
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