Friday, May 10, 2019

I want love that tastes like
Soggy corn flakes and
Too-strong coffee

The love of quick
Kisses and familiar hands,
Of causal intimacies rooted
Well past the wind blown topsoil
Of infatuation

I want love like lazy
Mornings in bed, hiding
In the duvet, and like late
Nights slumped into
The chesterfield

I want the kind of love
That feels safer than
Loneliness, that bleeds
Under my skin and becomes
Some new part of me

Until it is as comfortable
As timeworn slippers
And sweet milk tea 
I knew I wasn’t the right shape for you.
I put myself into a box:
A closet-shaped hideaway, lined with

“I don’t mind lesbians, as long as they
Don’t have
A crush on me.”

Cramming myself into the space I’d built
From your words,
Hoping I could be

Not too much;
Not enough to scare you,

But just enough. And I hid,
And I hoped.

Maybe it was wrong of me,
But it didn’t make a difference
In the end:
You still broke away, leaving me,

Still wrapped in my secrets,
Like grandmama’s furs among
The mothballs.

I still wanted you to love me.

Eventually I outgrew
My box: I became too much
For it to hold, and I spilled over
Until I couldn’t close the door behind me

But out here, I am
Just enough. 
I am most myself
In the nighttime, when everything
Else is shrouded in
Darkness and hidden,
And I can take
Off my masks.
The forest is burning, and I feel
Helpless at the sight of the
Skeletal remains of such a
Nurturing home.

You torched me when you left,
Scorched earth behind you,
Leaving me as desolate and bare
As charred remains, a hollow
And empty ghost of what came before.

But roots grow deeper than ashes
And seeds stay hidden, tucked away
Safe in their dark beds, and in time
The forest will grow back and life
Will return to it, and it will be
As full and beautiful as it was before
And the flames will be but a half-forgotten memory.

I am deep, and have my own dark beds,
Secret corners tucked away, safe
From you, and in time I will grow back,
As vibrant and radiant as I ever was,
And you won’t even recognize me.
I wake up in our bed next to a cold spot,
An echo of your body.
In the closet my clothes hang on one side,
Next to the ghosts of yours.
The bathroom is stark with your absence,
My toothbrush lost on the vast expanse
Of the porcelain counter without yours beside it.
I still walk around the memory of the table
Your parents gave us when they redecorated.
The dishes were yours.
My truck stop mugs and takeout silverware
Keep their ghosts company.
The bookshelves look wrong, unbalanced,
The empty spaces rebound the echoes
Of the books you liked to read.
Sometimes, if I close my eyes and focus real hard,
I can still hear you breathing next to me. 

Wednesday, February 27, 2019

It wasn't a tree
Outside my darkened window;
It was a great, sharp, clawed hand:
And you let it in. 

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

I sprinkle myself
With vanilla and brown sugar
With honey and milk and
Coconut, making myself
Sweet, sweet enough to
Gobble down so that
I can feed your desires:

Give my body
In service to a
Man’s ambition.