Six Months to Life

You ask me how I did it:
how I made an extremely difficult process look so easy.
You don’t know that it was excruciating from the start,
and that I’m nowhere near finished.

I had to remove the one person I wanted for the rest of my life,
from my life.
I had to detach myself from a part of my soul.
It started with one day, that turned into one week,
which turned into one month,
and before I knew it, I reached half of a year.

I haven’t coped,
I’ve just kept myself busy.
But those moments when I’m alone,
all of the memories rush to my head at once.

I want to tell him that my hands are sore from working such a long shift,
and that I’m coming over for chips and salsa.
I want to tell him all the good news about my day,
and how I’m evolving into the woman we both want me to become.

I may look like I’m okay, 
distancing myself from the one I love. 
But the truth is, in this sixth month,
I still want him,
just as much as I did on the day I decided to let him go.

written February 2, 2017.

Q+A

A woman once asked me:
Where did you find him,
and how did you keep him?

My reply was: 
We weren’t looking for anything,
but once he met me, he never wanted to leave. 

written January 28, 2017.

Heal

Sometimes, 
I want to force my feet onto the floor
so that I can make my way out of bed. 
I envision myself heading to the bathroom
so that I can brush my teeth, 
shower, and start my day.

But most times, 
I don’t move.
If I do, it might be to eat,
or to get some more tissues. 

It’s not always the worst thing,
to lay here.
My memory works well, 
and because of that, 
I can write to relieve the thoughts 
that overtake me. 

That way, when I think of us kissing, 
I ache a little less. 
I wrap my arms around myself and 
get used to not having yours.

Today, 
I’m going to throw out my graduation and birthday cards;
even the handwritten card I never gave to you.
They’re all just reminders that I don’t need. 
As I mentioned before, I have enough.

Today, 
I’m not mad at myself for feeling the way that I do. 
There is no shame, or guilt, or denial. 
I’m allowing this recovery to take its course. 
I love you with all of me, 
so all of me must heal.

written January 24, 2017.

Another "Morning After"

I can barely open my eyes.
Do I even want to?
Regret has spilled onto the sheets,
and sorrow has seeped into my pillow.

When you left this morning, 
I hope you took all of my feelings with you,
but I’m sure that you dismissed them,
because you do the same to yours.

I don’t know how we came to this point,
where we keep giving and giving, just to have nothing at all. 
Maybe we like watering what died a long time ago.
Maybe it’s because we hate the sound of goodbye.

written January 16, 2017.

The Game

I said that the last time would be the last time
on countless occasions. 
I keep giving and you keep taking,
because you’ll never say no.

You know what I’m worth, 
and you know what you’d be missing,
should I truly follow through with leaving you behind. 

But you don’t care.
So we play this little game
where I leave the ball in your court,
knowing that it’s really in mine,
as we wait for the clock to run out. 

And when it does,
don’t go wondering what happened.
There will be no space or opportunity
to make up for all we could’ve had.  

The love is there, 
but our intentions are completely different.
You play for ego,
and I play for keeps.

written December 12, 2016.

For the First Time

There was a time when I didn’t want anyone’s arms
around me but my own. 
The thought of a man embracing me one moment
just to leave me in the long run, caused me to become reclusive. 
Then came you.

When you touched me, 
you told a story. 
Your hands meeting my skin
served as the segue into my soul.

Every crease, dip and curve  
were points for marking. 
You kissed my scars and traced my stretch marks.
You knew that my temple was my territory,
but you never made me feel like an object
for wanting to see what was inside.

Looking back, 
I’m not resentful. 
Tearful, but not resentful. 
I miss those moments, 
when a tickle turned into love making, 
and how you’d hold me through the night.

I’m not mad at you,
because for the first time in my life, 
it wasn’t just sex.
You felt me beyond the physical. 
You wanted more than just a release. 
You poured into me,
and exchanged your love for mine.

written November 8, 2016.

Heaven and Hell

I guess I wasn’t that mad while you were inside of me, huh?
I wanted to tell you how much I can’t stand you,
but I was silenced by your stroke.

You come to me with a full mouth and empty hands,
but I am so smitten by the words you string together
that I ignore what you lack.

You and I both know we have an expiration date;
one that I have to implement myself. 
I’ve stalled this departure way too many times.

We should’ve ended already,
but it’s not that hard to tell,
that I’m in love with your heaven,
and I’m in love with your hell.

written November 5, 2016.

Unpublished

I could write a book about what each tear means. 
I could, but I won’t. 
I don’t trust you enough to understand why I feel the way that I do. 
I don’t trust at all.

My pain is scattered between old news and current events. 
It’s written in these lines, 
painted on the walls of the buildings I used to reside,
and held in the hearts of men that said they loved me,
but never quite knew how.

Sometimes I think about all that I’ve been through and cry.
I think about what’s to come and I cry some more. 
I am far from sending a bullet through my skull, 
but my sadness runs deep. 
I am far from the woman that the public believes me to be. 
Right now I am small.

I could write a book about it. 
I could. But I won’t. 
I could write a book about it. 
But there’s nothing left to say.

written October 7, 2016.

Flashback

It started with a tub. 
There is no body of water deeper
than the destruction you put me in,
yet I found myself suffocating
in its warm stillness.

It ended with a kitchen. 
You were in a good mood when you came home.
Drunk, but not belligerent.  
Happy. Horny. 
You embraced me from behind as I washed the dishes. 
I felt safe again.

I don’t know what I did to make you angry.
I never really do. 
But in a fraction of a second,
you went from kissing me to almost killing me.

You struck me to the floor with a force so powerful,
the world itself must’ve shook. 
Blood spilled from my mouth as you peered down at me,
your eyes riddled with fury.

You pulled me up,
and in that moment I knew that if I fell to 
the floor again, 
I would remain there until a coroner came. 
You left me no choice.

I grabbed a knife from the counter 
and sent it straight into your side. 
I saw the darkness drain from your pupils,
and felt the beauty in ending your life.

As I laid you down onto the tile, 
gratification overcame me.
It’s like you always used to say, babe:
“You made a monster out of me.”

written November 3, 2016.

Right Now

Right now, I am free.
I am not concerned about what we are
or what we aren’t,
but simply what I feel in this very moment. 
And in this moment, I feel light. 

My laughter stems from the depths of my soul
and spills out into your space.
It intoxicates you.  
It coerces you into endless smiles and holding of hands and sloppy kisses.
It enables you to look at me in all of the ways you usually hide.

In this moment, you aren’t working,
and I’m not growing anxious over emails that never come. 
We are simply being. 

Your energy gravitates toward mine,
and they have a fine time together. 
Now I know what it means when they say
“What’s real doesn’t have to be explained.”

written September 9, 2016.

Never Say Enough

I still talk about you in present tense.
As I get dressed, I prepare to get scolded because of my outfit.
I get ready to downplay your discontent
and assure you that no pervert will have his way with me,
but that moment never comes.

When I crash on the couch,
I think about how I need to fold up the blanket
and neatly pile the pillowcases before you make your way down the stairs. 
I listen for your footsteps,
but I never hear them.

When I walk towards my room I glance into yours,
hoping to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, peering through your blinds,
but you’re never there.

No more beckoning me for silly things, or for nothing at all. 
No more inspecting my haircut when I come home from the barbershop. 
No more poking my thighs and asking about my weight. 
No more.

You left me so quickly. 
There was no build-up,
only signs, and heaviness in my spirit. 
You left me so quickly.
I could never say enough goodbyes.

written September 9, 2016.

Today

Today is not the day. 
Today is not the day, 
but it is.

In a matter of hours I’ll be looking at her, 
laying in her brand new bed.
It’s not as big as the one in her room, 
but I was told that she looks like she’s sleeping.

I will try my best to keep it together
since she’ll be looking down,
but I can’t guarantee that my eyes or heart
will agree with my truest of intentions.

Today is not the day
that I view her for the last time. 
It can’t be another encounter where 
I talk but silence says something in return.

Today is not the day.
Today is not the day.
She isn’t really gone.

written September 4, 2016.

Sunday

Dad took your favorite white outfit to the dry cleaner’s today.
I’m laying in your bed, 
careful not to submerge myself beneath the covers, 
because that would mean you’re really gone.

I went to tuck myself in early this morning.
I was so cold,
but I curled myself up in a little ball instead. 
I felt crumbs on your sheets from your last meal here,
and decided there were other ways I could stay warm.

I bury my face in your pillow just so I can smell you again. 
I stare at the blessed oil that stands ever so earnestly atop the dresser beside your bed. 
It hasn’t even been two whole days since you left us, 
but it feels like a nightmare that’s lasted years.

I hear your voice, 
and recall all that you said before speaking was no longer an option; 
before your hands could no longer hold mine. 
I kissed you when it hadn’t been too long since the blood stopped flowing,
and I kissed you once more as your outside turned to ice.

I don’t eat much. 
I don’t say much. 
But my tears tell it all.
I’ll keep laying in your bed because I’m closest to you here.
I’ll see you on Sunday again.

written August 30, 2016.

The One Who Got Away

I’m supposed to be studying… 
I’m nervous. 
I’m scared. 
Normally I’d call you and explain why,
but that’s just not an option. 

I went from crying to you to crying over you.
I want to tell you that I miss you, 
but that’d be a waste of words. 
Today I have a final for that really hard class I told you about,
but I’m on the couch typing this poem. 

You always do that to me:
Overtake my thoughts. 
You invade my emotional space and diminish other things of importance.
I’ve got to get these problems right,
but I wish that I could make things right with you. 

And I hope that as I type this, 
you’re in your bed looking at the spot I used to lay. 
I hope that your arms and legs don’t feel the same
since mine aren’t tangled in between them. 

And maybe you feel just as dazed and out of place as I do. 
I sure hope so.
And maybe, for the first time, you know what it feels like
to have “the one who got away.”

written August 17, 2016.

First and Last

I’ve got THC in my lungs
and Hennessy in my heart. 
My eyes are wet from wondering if tonight will be our last. 
I like it best this way.

I cling to you - a sign that I’m weary.
I kiss you, as if the moments to come will plant us a world apart. 
You ask me what’s wrong, 
and I respond by stripping down to skin.
Now is not the time to talk.

I close my eyes and whimper as you have your way with me. 
You fuck me like you already miss me.  
You make love to me like you care.

I grow closer towards my climax as you pick up the pace. 
You’re hurting me, but pain is passion after all.
My eyes search yours, and before I open my mouth,
“I love you” filters into my ears.

My lips part in awe,
and in a fraction of a second, my hands are caressing your face
as your kisses smother my cries. 
I’m hungry for you.

For the first time ever, you fill me up as you finish,
and a pool of pleasure collects underneath me. 
You collapse onto me and your body rests on top of mine.

I savor this newfound splendor, 
knowing that we were always a game of risks. 
Yet I remain silent as reality sets in.
This is no happy ending, this is a goodbye.

written August 11, 2016.

A Lifetime Kind of Love

I enter another a dimension as you make your way inside of me.
I don’t travel down old roads but I like the way this one feels. 
You touch me in places you were first acquainted with so many moons ago. 
It’s amazing how my body can’t help but make magic with yours.

We didn’t miss a beat,
but it’s clear that we missed each other,
and I’m sorry that for all of those months
I hid myself from you. 
I’ll exchange my scars for yours
if you’re willing to show me all of the places that the pain still resides. 
They say you can’t get healing from the one who hurt you, 
but I’m here to prove them wrong.

The crazy thing about our story,
is that neither one of us wanted it to exist.
Ink spewing from the same fountain,
as we fight for the narrative’s control. 
There are people from our past, and even more in our present,
who will try to disrupt our fluidity
to keep us from completing what our hearts have started. 
I won’t fight with them, but I’ll fight for you.

Let down your guard so that the plot strengthens instead of thickens. 
Allow me to water the soil that we stand on,
so that it becomes enriched with what we have to offer one another.
Let life take its course and don’t give fear the permission to stop it.
It would be a tragedy if you put an end to what we’re meant to be.

I want to be your reason, not a season.
I want to be your lifetime, not a loss.
Love me until your cup runneth over.
Love me until all you can do is love me some more.
Love me until it changes you for the better.
Love me until there’s no room for goodbye.

written August 7, 2016.

From 23 Gulick Lane

I did not watch the reports, since I was a part of them.
There was no need to read the papers since I know your face,
but that still didn’t stop me from looking.

At some point, between the 12-year-old girl sitting on the curb
and the teenager fielding scholarship offers,
I became a woman.

Was it the humiliation that expedited my growth?
Or maybe it was my fear of the metastasizing tumor
that caused me to mature.

Maybe it was looking in the mirror all bloodied and bruised,
wondering where my weight was going,
pleading with my white blood cells that were giving up on me,
that caused me to change. 

My turmoil taught me that only God can save you,
but first you must want to save yourself. 
My tears taught me that strength comes from 
weakness that is willing to be worked on, only if you let it.

There were times when I thought I was not going to live.
There were times when I didn’t want to.
And although the aftermath of your actions
deteriorated my mind and seared my soul,
I am on the road to redemption.

Empty promises, hotels and hospitals beds led me here. 
The homes of loved ones served as a slight cushion
for the blows I had to endure.
You destroyed me for over a decade. 
You title yourself my protector;
but even blind eyes can see the truth.

The circumstances may have gotten better,
but only certain aspects have become easier.
There is not one day that goes by where I
neglect to replay the film I call my past. 

I am a woman of the mud.
I have trudged and I have triumphed.
I have failed, but always fight back.
Everyday is an uphill battle,
because there is no winning your war.

written July 31, 2016.

Relapse

What number am I on?
My face is starting to flush
and my hands are starting to wander.
I said that last time would be the last time,
but I don’t care to keep my word.

I see you looking at my thighs.
Would you like to cum in between them?
Won’t you tell me that you missed me
while you stroke my fears away?

You know that I want you,
but you don’t know that I crave you.
You don’t realize how I view you,
or that I want to make you mine. 

I wore the leggings you like – 
the ones that fit just right. 
I’m waiting for the moment when you start to take them off. 

I don’t want to say it.
I’m silently begging you not to make me. 
You’re serving me all this liquor,
but I’m just here for flesh. 

written July 25, 2016.

(Love) Story

I begin to string words together just to delete them.
These sentences will never do my feelings justice,
so I’m unsure of why I try.

When your heart mourns the loss of someone
who hasn’t passed
but your time with them has,
there’s not much that you can say.

I erase your number from my phone
just to put it right back in.
I’ve dug up a picture from the spring.
I look at it as a means to retrieve a time
where letting you go wasn’t an option.

I never would have thought we’d end up here.
But we can go a lot farther, you know.
You can overcome your fears
and I’ll be here to see it unfold every step of the way.
Only if you want to, though…

But you won’t.
And you don’t.
So I reluctantly say goodbye to the thought of us,
because for you I guess there never really was one. 

It would make too much sense
to be with the woman that makes you happy.
You like our story,
just not the part about love.

written July 20, 2016.

Just a Dream

I miss you.
I miss your smell,
and pressing my mouth against your
neck even if it’s not to kiss you. 
I miss tickling you with my nose.

I miss singing in your kitchen 
and watching in awe as you rap.
I miss dancing with you all over the house. 
I miss seeing the way you smile when I say something outlandish,
or when I milly rock for no reason.

You are sexy in so many ways,
even when you’re sleeping.
I just want to be wrapped up in your arms
every second of every day.

I dream of a night where we go into the city,
and get drunk and roam the streets with no destination in mind.
Your lips finally meet mine and you tell me that you love me 
as I become undone. 

We get a hotel since 5 am isn’t as far away as it feels.
As you lay me down,
your eyes behold me in a way I’ve never witnessed before. 
They don’t look at me like they want me for the awaiting moments of ecstasy,
they look at me like they want me for life.

written July 20, 2016.