Lately,
my husband has been bothering me—
a lot.

He’s always moving,
in bed,
on the couch,
never still.

It irritates me.
But I’ve realized—
moving
is something the living do.

Which tells me
I’m more dead
than alive.

I sleep with pillow that smells of your hair,

Your scent slowly fades and your warmth is long gone,

All I have now is my mirror's cold stare,

Nights without you stab my heart like a thorn.

Look at my actions, see what I’ve done,
How I wasted my life just for your fun.
A laughable man, a pathetic shadow,
One blade of grass in your vast meadow.

To let you shine, I refused to bloom,
On my own life, I cast certain doom.
Love and loyalty, that’s all I sought,
You said you cared and needed space, I thought.

You kept me close, my fire still burned,
Then you left, became cold, I never turned.
I should’ve known you weren’t my fate,
But that truth arrived far too late.

Now I see clearly, finally free,
You were never really interested in me.
My feelings were toys you’d break to feel whole,
Just to ease the ache inside your soul.

I won’t stop loving, I’ll always care,
But I can’t stay trapped in your snare.
No longer a tool for your selfish need,
You’ll never love me back, now I’m freed.

Enough years waiting, now I’m done,
If you want me back, I’ll be gone.
Enough tears spilled in a cold bed,
I’m no longer the heart you shred.

Black are the shadows of buildings at night,
Dark clouds are heavy like wool made of steel,
Streetlights have depressing, dim yellow light,
Past Soviet towers, their mood you can feel.

Concrete grey giants tell stories of pain,
Cold wind brings tidings lost somewhere in time,
Heavily falls down an intrusive rain,
Soaking those walls just so you can not climb.

Eyeliner washed down like desperate black tears,
Anguish and joy here are merging to one,
Endless dark windows of cubical fears,
Relics of an age that is not fully gone.

Look at those giants, what do you see?
Do you feel unease and poetic ache?
Look at those shadows, be honest with me,
Their feelings black will your spirit unmake.

a story often starts
with dark stormy nights,
but you were my north star
peaking out so bright
my one and only, love and
a true light in the darkness
taking with you I'm just
laid bare with a starkness
I went to grab you from the
hole; to stop another's fall
no time to wonder if I'll
sacrifice it all.

To PERTINAX,

Too long has pain been a blanket,
Smothering your soul to flickering embers.

Your spark, caught in a continuous updraft,
Only to be lost amongst stars too far to see.

Pain, a forever companion, details the scars
That mar the beauty nature has sown within.

Darkness, forever a rain cloud, soaks a spirit
Bent and broken by fatherly expectation,

Unattainable,

By a son cursed to wonder why he feels alone,
When surrounded by love he cannot understand,

Or chooses not to,

For fear that feeling will hurt worse than the numbness,
Ever-present in the mask of hatred and jealousy,

Coveting all that he has not earned,
Wanting to be more than the sum of the parts he built,

Some of which lie shattered at his feet as tears fall,
Slowly lubricating gears that had atrophied

In a dark rigor mortis where bare fists seize,
Their constant beatings of black-and-blue memories,

Where control was subverted by passions not in line
With the values that created the monstrosity,

Inherited by a man whose lack of love stained him,
A tarnish that self-berates and self-hates the lack of love

He does not feel.

Choices that forever hold back the sway of emotion
He was never equipped to deal with,

Even when surrounded by motherly affection
That consistently put him first, even when she was last.

Shame is not a big enough word to describe the pain
Of letting down the single light in his world,

That has full faith he can shed the weight that chokes,
With a firm grip begging for release into the peace

Of death.

More scars to carry forward and harm the flesh
That traps what could have been beautiful,

Had he just bled the toxins that poisoned his mind
Against the dreams that raised him to be more.

Failure is his greatest fear.

For fatherhood has now grasped this broken man,
And the blood now flows to them by association,

Repeating the same mistakes that led him to bleed,
Expecting family to be the boon that heals all,

A purpose not his own to selfishly inflict on innocents,
Too pure for a world of pain, hate, and ugliness,

Unaware that beauty can exist in a damaged man,
And that love can heal all if shared honestly.

A two-way street that begs him to traverse it,
Opening up and allowing light and beauty to shine,

The way to loving himself,

And forgiving the corruption he allowed to rest
Within the center of his chest.

I can love myself.
I am beautiful.
I am not a waste.
I can be more.
I can get better

With time,

Then truly love those who have loved me in my absence.

—PERTINAX