I don't want to sleep on you again but you make me so tired
You say you want to be lovers but I feel more like your diary whenever we speak...
this prayer will not be answered in the form of an unchecked pocket,
there's a limit to how many times you can lose anyone.

And you never said sorry and if you did I wouldn't believe it,
I think forgiveness is selfish by proxy, surely you wouldn't disagree

Like Elster and her promise
I'll emerge thru hell and roam blistered from the snow
To see my true love's face once more;
I carry her face everywhere I go
I just learnt to let go of all the words spoken,
abandoned broken wing's never mend
And I can so easily pass her shoulder-bredth wordlessly and pretend she means nothing to me now but do you really expect me to pretend we were never lovers at all?

And I never got a Farewell kiss from you, I know you think I'm hurt by that fact
But little did you know I stole one instead from your cat...

Now

Go away and stay there,
I'm sorry it meant more to you than it did to me,
That's not my fault though.

My then boyfriend
Now husband
Never forgave you for putting your hand on my thigh,
Casually mentioning the ******* beaches in the south of France.
Your daughter needed a chaperone on your family’s upcoming vacation.

You went and I stayed of course
The ******* beach all the poorer for my absence.

I am not the kind of girl who
Finds herself at Disney Paris at the end of the movie.
That’s not the way this movie ends, anyhow.

12 years later
One lung lighter
Tens of millions denser
and poised to send your daughter
to Dartmouth
Or Tulane
Or anywhere she’d rather.

She’ll have everything the world could offer her
In exchange for her father.

A parent shouldn’t have to know.

So I forgave you the hand thing
And the lewdness of a drunken survivor
Poised on the lip of an ever-widening hole.

If you asked to take me now,
I think I’d go.
I’ve always wanted to see the Louvre.
I can almost hear it:
The clicking heels and murmurs,
Your overwrought humanities professor explanations of this or that and me humoring you with appropriate reverence as always,
And the dead certain silence of the thing we will not speak about,
Pointedly conspicuous in its absence,
Filling the space between.

maybe you will think
maybe you will feel
we all have reasons
we all have decisions
we all have explanations
does it count
does it matter
will it evaluate who we are
will it assess our personality
sometimes it will take seconds
or minutes
or years
what if it takes 100 years
to get back again
to turn that chance again
to hug her again
to say you love her
to say sorry
to make her feel
she's the one
she's the only one
of all the hundreds

xoxo

i stop at the t-junction
between your throat and your collarbone
loving people with a t-suppliment
overthrowing any judgement

you forced me up
and squeezed lemon juice down my throat
i'm pretending that this was never real
but feeling my skin flake and peel

do you ever miss the pain of a new scar?
because there is too much space between my fingers
and it feels raw and unwelcome.

there is something alluring about
unraveling string-
loose ends splitting and breaking
forever vanishing into oblivion

Pieces of broken glass,
Scattered colors,
An orange ribbon,
And a fresh red rose.