Posts (page 2)

the breadcrumb trails
you left behind to lead me
to your favorite hiding spots
have somehow been preserved
and every now and then
i follow them
and peek into your windows
to see if you are
smiling and laughing
or smashing bottles against walls.
this habit's been more frequent lately
as i realized all along
it wasn't my fault we'd lost our way
like you had told me
but you just didn't care who was there
to feed to your wolves

(oh, if you could only see
how i dance
knowing
i can always save myself)

the words go from
telegrams
to prose by messenger
to stamped by carrier
to winded postcards
to hoping you're doing just fine
and i'm just as guilty of
not licking stamps and
abandoning the wonder of
if it would be alright if i told you
there was
but there always is
and you know that
and we'll miss those little bits
and hope you're doing just fine.

coming back to the place where
we drank but never shared a glass
is very haunting in ways that
if you believed me, you know how hard the heart drops
and if you didn't, well it doesn't matter then, does it?

i still laugh
at the names you called me
what she called me

i wonder what she'll call your new little lover

anyway,
cheers to you,
here's to growth
i hope all is well
as it always should be.

i buy a new bottle
even a new glass to fill
rub the cork on my lips
dressing up the kiss
you won't fight for

the hypersensitivity
that quiets
and builds
and leaves you
a defined
and beautiful wreck
that you'd only
share
with me.

though i love
these coveralls
which are mine and mine alone
there is no willow tree

at the end of a fight
you have to cut the tape from my hands
it's so thick
and if it were left to me
it'd probably stay on all night
until my fingers turned
unnatural colors
like wilting flowers
but i don't know
if you will be there for me
to cut away my second skin
kiss my fingertips
like a proper prince
and it makes me scared
to fight at all

i can see her fingerprints
hard evidence to testify
for your clumsiness
her oils rubbed into
the grains of your body
lingering like cheap perfume
deep in the pockets of your jeans
between each thread
a seed of doubt, hate, suspicion
rooting themselves
before you even bother
to wash yourself

he drinks all the juice
and says
he won't be back for a few days
and she can't tell
if that breaking
is from abandonment
or jealousy.

the empty vase on the counter
whispers
and she's still figuring out
if she just can't hear
or if she just not listening.

please
just make me feel like
i belong here

that this pull
belongs to you too
it's not just