Tag: Love / Heartbreak

Almost
I almost found my home in a pair of warm arms and
I trusted it enough to put down roots
but something in me kept an eye on the back door
always ready to run
He almost loved me with all my faults and
he danced with my demons without missing a beat
but something in him ran
scared of the way our sins synced up too nicely
She almost broke me against the sharp edges of her smile and
she collected my pieces to put back together
the perfect puzzle
but something in her hated it
the jagged jigsaw she’d made of me
They almost heard the truth between the lines and
they saw through my carefully cultivated omissions
but something in them chose to pretend
to believe us honest friends
It almost doesn’t matter
Almost

I’m drinking poison
sickly sweet and slick across my tongue
my throat closes
swells with emotions until I choke
on everything I can’t handle
feeling for you
my severe allergy
to fickle friendship and empty enemies
I consume the toxin
let you in
with the hopes that this will kill me
I don’t want to live to be stronger
there is no stronger
only harder
a doomsday bunker heart covered in rust and dust
and so empty
I hide
waiting out your patience born of disinterest
and I realize you are still breathing as my own heart
stutters to a stop
this assassin’s mistake
the belief our lives were ever tied in such a way
that you’d taste the bitter end
on my lips
before they grew blue and cold
you sipped your own wine and never even glanced
at my corpse

Are you so surprised that people
walk away from you?
Your heart is an open door with
no latch or lock.
You let people use you,
walk in and experience your love and light,
and then they can just walk away
and cast you out again.
Your inability to take their freedom,
to bind them,
is the very reason they can’t stay.
Freedom is overrated.

I remember your amber eyes
the way you’d look at me when I spoke
so open like my favorite book
and I remember the calm
sinking into my bones when you sat next to me
anchoring me without touching
and they made a big deal out of that
the not touching
as if two hands couldn’t work together
on the same keyboard
creating words in tandem yet apart
until the entire story unfolds across the pages
and you told the best stories with your smile
the way your eyes glowed
when you laughed
and I remember losing you
the miles between us molehills turned mountains
until we were just you and me
separate and silent

Love, again?
It wasn’t like the first time. It never is.
The first time he was a mysterious stranger
with a bike and a sly smile.
He sat in the quiet of our secret concrete tunnel
and told me stories in trade one for another.
He smelled like autumn rain
and sounded like that catchy tune we all sang.
He let me take his favorite baseball cap
instead of his heart,
or maybe right along with it.
I’ll never know.
What I do know is
he shattered my naive heart as gently as he could
but shattered it just the same
with betrayal and sudden lies made truths.
And then he left.
So this time?
This time I’m doing the leaving
because I have to
because if first time Love taught me anything
it taught me how to survive its dying flames
and the loss of a friendship
in the ashes.

Bind my wrists to give me freedom.
Take away this
constant need for responsibility
and let me be out of control
under your guiding hand.
Give me the escape
of obeying your commands
without question.
I need this tamed moment,
this contained expression of ownership,
this leash
to hold back my irrational need
to do everything perfect the first time.
Make me submit
to the power of letting go.

There’s something you should know
in case I don’t come back.

You should know that
I gave all your things to the thrift store,
even your dad’s old watch and
your grandma’s fancy lace curtains.

You should know that
I left the water running from all the taps
when I moved out, hoping it would
wash away any hint of us
in the worn carpets and creaky bathroom door.

You should know that
I deleted all of your old photos,
each mouse click a rebellious hallelujah
I swore you’d hear wherever you slept that night.

You should know that
I hated all of those old songs you used to love,
the ones we’d sing at the top of our lungs
with the windows down in your car.

You should know that
you were all of the reasons I had left to stay here,
and our crumbling facade allowed me
to cut the last strings holding me in place.

I thought you should know,
just in case I don’t come back.
Because I won’t, at least not in this lifetime.

I’ve decided to stay here,
even though you said not to.
Really, I’ve decided to stay here
–specifically–
because you said not to.
You have this
think-you’re-always-right
thing,
and I have this
have-to-prove-you-wrong
thing,
and they’re not particularly compatible,
are they? Except
in the way opposite ends of a magnet
attract, which is to say
we are opposites
rather than completion.
There will forever be this constant
pushing
and
pulling
between us, never stillness.
Never peace.
And so I turn away with purpose,
knowing how to repel our lives apart.
There is safety in being hidden,
in being alone and unseen.
And I’ve decided to stay here,
quiet, careful, content…
even though you said not to.

If you’re going to burn me,
at least be a man about it.
Light me up
or hand me the goddamned match
so I can start the fire myself.
I’m gasoline fumes and gunpowder,
it’s kinda what I do. I combust,
implode and explode
and burn.
Why are you just standing there with the lighter
like you’ve forgotten what it’s for?
Toss your careless spark into this bonfire heart
and run. It’s kinda what you do,
isn’t it?
Run for your life,
like I’m going to swallow you
in the flames you’ve lit.
Maybe I might. Or
maybe I’ll just let it all
burn out
until there’s nothing left but ashes.