if i could
i would kiss away the pain
with poetries and prose
for all i know is write
until all the tears are out dry

but i couldnt

I still think of the time we spent together
It seemed so endless.
The finitude of the moment
Made our love taste sweet.
The misfortune was-
It only tasted so
once the moment
Was complete.

In Amsterdam a few years ago I stood below 12 sunflowers.
Standing still I stared at the bright strokes, bold
With something but I.
Could not understand I.
Did not see a plan, and I.
Felt small, my heart in my hand alone below bright beaming sunflowers
Some sort of morse code.

Through the frame I look at sunflowers still stale.
For a moment I was nauseous and the world spun round
Like a horror story the painting asks for a gift.
I could not provide, salty eyes and lips
I could not give, a heavy handed thought.
So I turned on my heel
and left.

I kept saying:
no one loves me
no one thinks I'm beatiful

What I really meant:
I don't love me
I don't think I'm beatiful