"untitled"

these are the saddest words you’ll never hear me say
perhaps you’ll walk into a bookstore one day
hand in hand
with the next love of your life
and she’ll be holding her stomach, with her other hand, her unborn addition to your infinite happiness waiting to arrive
and she will smile at you as you turn over a book,
a book you can’t explain why you’re drawn to, but it’s a book of poems
and you flip to a page
and these words spill from the edges of it
like my tears falling as I write
and you remember without hesitation that
you were once mine
and I was once yours
and these words
and this space
between us
are merely that of circumstance
and you'll pause
she’ll watch you and grab your arm while asking
if you’re “okay”, concern lining the creases
in her unknowing face
and you'll say
“I’m fine, just fine” then you'll put my heart
back on the shelf
and walk away
again

.she writes.

she writes poems for me
because the words can never seem to fall from her lips
yet the ink that stains her paper holds more weight,
more truth,
than I’ve ever heard her mutter out loud
my intense desire to hear those words, rather than run my fingers over flat black marks piques her interest
for she’s incapable of living and loving out loud
all her feelings are trapped between two surfaces
while she’s a prisoner in her thoughts
and I often wonder how we would be, together, if she was free

Party of One

You've thrown yourself a party again,
but the only one that RSVP'd is you

Balloons, streamers, party favors & hats. This time you were going big, you said. Party for one?
One.

The only number you can count to since no one else ever seems to exist.

Love is a one man show for you. You flirt, get your own number & forget to call.
You suck at even picking yourself up & following through on a date.

Those nights tossing in between sheets, welcoming your own demons and fighting angels that sought to heal your soul
Suffering is what you do best

So weeks turn to months, years & you wonder what became of that old love you buried on a cold New England day.

It's sprung forth from soil without water, little to no sunlight & an environment of solitude where barely anything can grow,
& became a blossoming tree, beside another tree
that grew from one of its seeds
you see
love has a way of breaking through the toughest misery

Still having parties with only one in attendance while
love blossoms outside your window
all you can do is stare, alone
& watch it become everything
you will never be

-untitled-

Falling out of love is like hearing drops of your soul hit the corners of a metal tin can, a quick splash here & there,
The echoes of loneliness like a hollow drum, beating a rhythm only tears can hear
The sound of pain, the way it reflects & slides down into every corner, every crevice & dries
It's as if it was never there
But the taste of salt still lies on fingertips,
That captured them from eyes, moist with regret
Love once was held there in stolen moments, nights of passion & kisses that lingered in hidden places
Bruises of love's faults left just beneath the surface
Of a heart that beats no more