If love can be withdrawn
It never was

My love for you is not a gift
    To you
      It is a gift
        To me

A silence with you
Is not
a silence

But a moment rich
with peace

there have been too many of these same instances

too many of these same promises

that smile
i’ve seen it before

those soft words
i’ve heard them before

your trembling hand
i’ve held it before

maybe i should just let go

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

having often like old clothes,
have bought small dresses, with
no one in reach.

hung, they look pretty, the
experience helps now in family
business, and how busy the
family is.

took time out yesterday, bought
small dresses, in the rain.

it is a small family affair.

sbm

My mother told me you can't fix glass once it's broken
She told me this when she found me locked in my room at the age of 6 trying to fix her vase I knocked over playing ball in the house
She told me you're suppose to get the broom and dust pan and clean it up
Disgaurd it in the trash where it belongs
And that's why I call you an idiot when you say you love me
You're only going to end up with a chest full of shards and a few open gashes
You don't try to mend glass
Onces it's broken you can never fix it completely
No matter how much glue you try to use