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
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Friday, June 28, 2013
"untitled"
Labels:
despair,
disappoint,
emotions,
expectations,
fears,
feeling,
heartache,
poetry,
relationships,
sadness,
spilled ink
Monday, May 20, 2013
.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
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
Sunday, November 28, 2010
holidays
I stomp out flames roasting chestnuts over a once open fire,
Hang wreaths of the present over mantels of the past,
Then decide bare is a better reminder
Restless dreams of familial warmth frozen in the cold night air, faces rigid and cracked from laughter of holidays past,
Memories that couldn't last
Cider clings to a mug of hope slowly evaporating into the air
There's no one there, the room is empty
Windows slick with winters chill, another season of broken promises is here
The holidays remain a friend I'd like to forget, a lovers kiss my lips can't help but miss
Sometimes, most times I'd rather not celebrate
The breaking of my spirit
Hang wreaths of the present over mantels of the past,
Then decide bare is a better reminder
Restless dreams of familial warmth frozen in the cold night air, faces rigid and cracked from laughter of holidays past,
Memories that couldn't last
Cider clings to a mug of hope slowly evaporating into the air
There's no one there, the room is empty
Windows slick with winters chill, another season of broken promises is here
The holidays remain a friend I'd like to forget, a lovers kiss my lips can't help but miss
Sometimes, most times I'd rather not celebrate
The breaking of my spirit
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