I hope you know that I think of you so often,
that I worry and hope to feel you in my pocket.
Every now and then, I'll think that I have lost it.
I wear my attachment enclosed in a locket.
Because I never want to ask too much. (that's too much.)
But lately I could use your touch. (let's touch.)
I wish you could just read this, but we're all just so busy.
I know it's not deliberate but "read" leaves me in a tizzy.
I'm blue when you're not with me but I will not make this heavy.
I'm scared you'll take advantage, can't bear to be so naggy.
Deflect and reflect a lack of true affection.
Poly isn't for when our hearts need protection.
I am not just an honorable mention; another soft option.
Nor do I expect you to get up and just drop ****.
Just wish to be valued and treated as such,
But I never want to ask too much, is this (too much?)
Too bad, lately I've been too much (that's too much.)
I'll sit here debating if I've enough (that's enough.)
While I'm really just waiting for your touch (let's touch.)

I want to cry but to be perfectly honest,
I don’t feel like crying. I mean maybe,
I feel like I should be crying,
perhaps the girl, that wasn’t on anything
would probably be bawling her face out into her sheets,
or at least be asleep,
But here I am awake at 5 in the morning,
obviously tired.
Eyes dry and wide open,
Obviously spent
Numb-nosed and hell bent on writing something to read today
I’m typing away at this screen as if my conscience is the only thing
that could hear me if I scream out loud right now.
Enough of that,
filler angst.

I’ve been a juicy story for ya, huh?
Tellin your boys
I ended your dry spell, did I?
That’s quite lovely.
I suppose you ended mine, but I guess I find that hard to define
with a saying as simple as that, “She ended my dry spell”
In my heart, I know how to end you, but don’t be concerned.
I won’t try.
They say I’m too nice.
And when I hear that, I nod twice with my jaw tight
When I hear that, I don’t show them what I write.

I guess I don’t really feel much anger towards you anyway.
No matter what ill will I try to muster up, it’s lackluster and faded.
I mean, I guess it’s mostly me that’s jaded, so
It’s not your fault.
You’re the bystander.
And nothing is really telling you to save me.
Certainly, not I.
Hell, I’d be ****** if you tried.
I mean how much saving do I really need,
if the knots in my chest and around my ankles are this loose?
And I’m drinking this juice with free hands
it tastes sweet but not sticky

Honey, thanks for the truth,
you are a straight shooter-
and I might just be digging that part of you.
That and that we can go at it hard and forever.
That doesn’t hurt, I think.
For that, I can deal with listening to your jabber,
your kissing and telling, your “**** I couldn’t have her.”
Just pass the bourbon please, even though it's only scotch,
there’s still an urgency, to not be sober while you talk.

I don’t know.

This is what I wanted, right?
No strings attached too tight?

I like how you feel against my cheek.
Almost like you mean something.
You’re warm and I’m buzzed,
hanging off the edge of lust
It’s just oxytocin playing the cruel trick.
I remind myself you’re just that.
Oxytocin and some good ****.
But I like how you feel against my cheek.
Just ***** that you bore me when you speak.

I've been learning to embrace your child.
When he is screaming and pushing away,
it is hard but I let him know that I love him.
And I know he wont ever show it,
but he's crying inside.
And he'll pull the blankets over him
after locking me out of his room.
And I'll knock of few times,
but I've got to be at work soon.
I know he hates when I go
but he needs the space.
I know he's always tired, hungry
and medicated.
I know he has friends but he's lonely.
There's this little girl sobbing at his window
but he chooses to pretend she isn't real.
She would keep him company
but she knows that you hate her.
Never wanted her enough
to even give up on her.
So even though I'm learning
to embrace the little boy,
I've got to go.
The little girl in me is lonelier
and she will love me back.

What a task it must be
to hold a candle to me,
a stationary puddle of wax
colored grey and crimson
by twelve seasons
we've shared juxtaposed or apart.
I've found your hues on the faces of others
often impervious to my flames,
hardened with my tears.
And our marriage
demands that I believe
we will melt together
or fall into the cracks
of another holder.

There are few words of substance to be said.
I won't reinforce the violence.
There are some terrifying acts
I could concoct when I'm thinking of her.
But I have taste.
Class.
Shame, even.
I can't fall into her category of betrayal.
I won't stoop down that deep.
I'll keep it to myself,
and dump out the stew.
With everyone I embrace, I'll forget about you.
Conscious.
What does it mean any way?
Friendship.
Who needs the glamor?
I stammer when I say your name-
but realize that your claim to fame
was a ******* child-
you couldn't be a good father.
You held your music like a baby
but tossed it out like a bother.
Uttering this, as you called her.
She called you.
You kissed her.
No, she kissed you.
You don't love her.
But she loves you.
This isn't the last one, I gasp,
and take the card and cookies that you gave me,
on the day that we turned two
drop tears on them
like suicide bombs and
toss them in the dust bin.
This just in,
this trust is
demolished and disgusting.
****** with ample shine,
Like the muck thats left behind
when a porter-***** by a tree is cracked,
and all that's done to clean it up-
is the dumping of icewater.
Washed us away for a bit-
but there's still this ****.
I feel it seep into my soils.
I wont let it reach my roots.
I need to grow and shoot
up to the sky away from you
and her
and thoughts of you
and her
I can't seem to get too far from you
and her
My branches reach up to the clouds,
hold me once again "doubt."
Let me be your baby,
let me stop and shout.
I keep falling down.
I'll rise again, then drown,
in this filthy water.
No-
There are flowers in the future.
I can smell them now.