please for the love of god
stop apologizing
for rejecting me.
stop apologizing for
you need a place to lay your
aching fucked up head. You
couldn’t stay
with the other woman
she’s yelling things at you from her car
I woke up thinking about
the warmest day of the summer
it was rainy and we were in the corner
of your new bedroom
it was a humid warmth, contained.
you didn’t bother to acknowledge it
while I was doing everything in my power
to hold it in my hands
Tag: art
4
eyes have gone to an angle
I’m tilted and my head is spinning
as the fan on the ceiling
red rocks that look like mars
am I losing it
what does he think of me
was he put off by my
worry concern of deceit
I’m stilling keeping up with
someone from the past
he’s constantly threatening
to kill himself on the internet
I’ve accepted him as dead so many times
I don’t know what I’ll do when
he actually goes
or if I will ever find out
I just have to accept him as forever
suffering
forever being revived
8
without the tornado people
how am I going to write poetry
seeing these shiny happy
so privileged that look like they’ve
walked off a country living catalog
I feel like I’m staring at a different life
that I never want to be a part of
I’m still looking for you
I’m still writing shitty love poems
It’s still cold and everything
seems like it has remained the
same
this must be the place that I come
back to, even if it’s a painful
place
there is a whole in my heart
the shape of the day
we spent at the park and another one
for the day
I went to meet
you by the river
unsent
caught somewhere between
the mundanity, grief,
and trying to save
someone’s life, a past lover
but drinking coffee and
crying instead
last days of Nov.
the spiritual experience of opening up a window
it’s time to start packing
place all of the books that you have
left in the cardboard boxes
look under the bed
sweep all of the remnants
of life lived in this room into the dust pan
here i am staring at the accumulation
of dust, dog hair, the corner of a
condom wrapper, a cotton ball
I continue to stare at this like
its art I continue to dissect
and remember
holding on to every piece
every memory from the summer
the waterfall, the overdose
can be seen in the gray
the blue bag from the time that
I bought someone a gift that I thought
they needed but they had plenty
but left me the bag
now it’s time to roll up the rug
moving all of the feelings
and things my body into a
new room
be happy, baby
stay soft yet strong
let that radiate from your
sunken eyes
made me no
molded me
crazy
the pain
made me crazy
now I distance myself
from people like me
women like me
who say innocent
things in order to be dismissed
numb the trauma
numb the trauma don’t rehash
it hide it, but numb it
don’t let it show
don’t , it only makes people feel bad
for you
for themselves
for the state of society
we only feel this pain and then
we die
am i
I only have time to creep on
social media I only
have time to stare at someone
from my past
my adult life, my twenties
can be summed up to what
today was
I woke up at 9am with the November sun
beaming through broken white blinds
I layed in bed thinking about where
it went wrong
I forced myself to journal three morning
pages they always seem
to be about me missing someone
then I went to the clinic because
HPV was a concern
turns out it’s just a skin irritation
the doctor reported this to
me with so much joy
I kept that joy for a few hours
after I left
then I shoved peanut butter cups
in my mouth while silently
color coding a rack of long sleeve
shirts thinking about my place
in capitalism thinking about
the fall of capitalism
feeling the band aid from the blood
that i had drawn earlier suffocate
the crevice of my arm
I got home showered and then
ripped an inch of my skin off
while taking it off
raw red
thin
I go to bed
