quote

"Losing you was a lot like losing a limb -
I miss you in everything that I do."

I promised I’d be better tomorrow.

I’d stop drinking
tomorrow.
I’d lose weight
tomorrow.
I’d talk to you
tomorrow.

Well I still drink,
and I didn’t lose weight,
and I never talked to you again.

Time is a funny thing.
Tomorrow is an expectation,
not the reality.

If only I lived for today,
maybe love wouldn’t have fallen away.

Our future looked a lot like
tea on Tuesday afternoons
and breakfast come Sunday morning,
coffee for the Mondays
that weighed heavy on our hearts.
There was rain and there was sunlight
and a lot of inbetweens,
sitting outside in the shade
while we laughed at the tan lines
from your socks and my sandals.

There were bruises on my hips
and your kisses on my neck,
there were so many sleepless nights.

There was lunch at work
and dinner on a table set for two.
And there was whiskey and wine
and old western movies,
and pajamas and pillow forts
because we both promised to stay young.

And there was rent and grocery lists,
and bills and our favorite snacks,
and my god it was beautiful.

And every day would end,
and maybe that’s when you tasted
goodbye on your tongue,
and maybe that’s why you left
before our future begun.

God gave me a heart
whose every beat was broken
so much so that it echoed
in every word I’ve spoken,

and God gave me a soul
that tore at its seams
so that I could find light
in the darkness of my dreams,

and God gave me this life
and buried love in my pain,
and I have found the strength
to stand once again.

There’s a plague somewhere
behind the walls of my skin,
biting at the air
that keeps me breathing.

There is a scream buried
in the back of my throat,
a plea or a battle cry,
I no longer remember.

But it is there,
heavy like lead,
burdening every word
I have ever said.

I wonder why
The sun still rises
Even though you’re no longer here.

The birds still sing,
the wildflowers grow,
the world turns with or without you.

But you have gone
From my life,
As quick and heedless
as the ending to every poem.

The whole world should stop
the way my heart has.

Tell the doctors to lay me down
by a river or by the sea,
let the current take me away
and carry me to the stars.
I fell in love with saying goodbye
but not when it came to you.
I wanted to be the one
to do all the leaving,
how dare you take that role
before I could.

Sometimes I look at falling stars
and think of giving them my wish,
but you’ve already carried it
to your grave.

Your name will always haunt
the walls of my heart.
It’s a small and cold comfort,
but I hold on to it like a lifeline.

I’ve never breathed easily
and sometimes I think
it’d be easier to stop trying,
But then I remember
that you wouldn’t like that.

So I come up for air
like a new born baby,
gasping and sobbing
and reaching for false light.

I keep thinking tomorrow
will be a better day
but I no longer believe it, anymore.

I hold on to you
in memories and old photographs,
but it just isn’t the same.

You are still the light in my life,
tucked away in the Earth
like a setting sun and its horizon.

I am a flower
or weed or willow,
and I am wilting in place.

I’ve lived long enough, I think.
My heart is more fractured
than a stained glass window.

Hang me in a church,
let the sunlight kiss my skin.

Sing me to sleep
and my god, do not wake me.

I beg you, let me sleep.

The light in my life
is falling
with the setting sun.

Do not leave me alone.

I will not survive
a life without you.

Some things I keep a secret,
buried beneath my tongue
like lead or an anchor,
heavying my words
with silence.

I need a pill to sleep
and coffee to wake
and dreams are
nightmares
these
days.

I hate structured poetry
because it keeps a lie
in its belly - I am
sane today,
I am okay.

But maybe this one is fine
because it is falling
with each stanza,
the way I am
with each
breath.

Sometimes I think poetry
is a lot like coming up
for air, but really
it’s suffocating
in place.

I wish I smoked cigarettes -
I would have a better
excuse for leaving,
except that I’ve
run out of
words.

Sentences are scary things, sometimes.
They are wars against the white
of empty space,
battle cries and hallelujahs
at the end of every line.

They hold the weight of a soul
in the palms of twenty six letters
and sometimes I break
the way the lines do.

God bless poetry
for keeping my heart
when you no longer wanted to.

The sleeping pills are winning
the battle I’m waging.
You are in my dreams,
quick and heedless as candlelight.

Reality steals you from me
and I am left cold and dark and alone.

Sentences are scary things
because they can hold you and I together,
but they end, too.

A lot like we did.

I can’t tell him
that my heart,
though imprisoned
behind ribs,
is the most wild
and reckless
of things,

I can’t tell him
that though it riots
within my chest,
it rests in the palms
of another’s hands.

I can’t tell him
that the echo
in my wrists
whispers
another man’s name.

I can’t tell him
that it’s over,
that I
no longer love him.
because I do
in all the ways
I can.

But my heart
has flown
from its cage
and now rests
in someone else’s.

Sometimes midnight
rests heavy on my heart
And I wonder
how something so empty
could hurt so much.

Some people fall in love
and I just fall to pieces.

Someone asks people
what they want to be
when they are older,

a handful will give
a job description,
others will ask
for happiness
or contentment.

When mama asked me
what I wanted to be,

I told her all I wanted
was to be sane.