your words

27.10.2017

“how could you” –
cat viper forked tongue
raking over the coals.
how does your bitterness taste?

i packed a box. it was requested,
and how it came to be yours i do
not understand, nor will i ask.
it is enough to know it is not my business.

why then, is it yours to berate?
there will be no response in kind;
i hold no judge’s gavel, matted powder
wig, it is not my duty.

neither is it yours.

you would presume to know me,
to say that i am not unique,
that my experiences
are not allowed to shape me.

that now, taking a close look,
i am not approved to examine
myself in the way i see fit.
am i not granted rights to feel

distressed and bipolar,
pitiful, petty, hurting, sad,
anxious and furious
and mostly with myself.

there is righteousness, perhaps,
the protection of one so dear,
distaste on their behalf.
there is none in a fury that
does not belong to you.

i am not the first person who “could”, who “hurt”
another human being; it is in our
ever-evolving nature that we fuck up.
i will not be the last person, either.

a better do-over with knowledge of myself –
somehow that was lost in years
of trying to calm, to fit, fight, grin
and bear complacency choke-holds.

apologies are fruitless to a person
who is “100% done”
and cares not whether i draw breath.
those were your words, not mine

and despite the claims of hardship
i hear everything is fine.

words fall out of this mouth to the page
only of those that will to see and listen.
nothing of mine reaches those
who have no reason to look for it.

therefore, the only advice i can offer,
though i scarcely believe it needed;
stop glaring this way in hatred
(i have none for you, even as this is)
and look elsewhere with a happier heart.

joy can easily be exchanged
and shrouded in sorrow and pain.
you cannot see sunrise through rain clouds and fog
….i mean, how could you?

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all off me

3.10.2017

all of me fits
in a nike box, dumped off
return to sender –
meanwhile my 20×12 room remains
a testament to you.
memento mori tears
the pit in my stomach builds
acid-refluxing towers, and i hope
that the New Me, the one
who you will love for all time
(in sickness and health, through
good times and bad, et cetera)
will love you back as much as i do
(in depression and serenity, through
bliss and fuckups, et cetera)
broken as i am.

73 pounds of failure
for sale at the butcher’s block
going for nothing
yet with no interested buyers.
i can see why you walked away.
i can see it all – ribcage like
jailor’s bars, shriveled breasts
and thigh-gap legs that won’t fill
clothes. palms forever open
in surrender, pleading for one…
one more talk, one more kiss, please
don’t say goodbye like this.

don’t let the end be a post-it
about four hundred bucks
and when you love her now, new fresh
sparkling relationship of promise
i hope that the stain
washes all off me.