He watches me
going crazy in agony.
With his dark brown eyes
that hold me hostage.
His eyes don't follow me
neither do his ears or
mouth.

It hurts to be in love.

Being put on the back burner
left to forget
or told to sit in the corner
for being a bad girl again.
I've drawn all over the walls
with permanent markers
and the paint peels
when trying to clean it off.

There isn't much I wouldn't do
for him.
I would shoot up a car he was in.
Pick the most beautiful abstract art.
Jump off a cliff to land on broken
glass bottles
and try with my lack of skill
to pen him even more beautiful
love poetry.

I feel lost
in my own house.
My heart is like
a race horse running it's last lap.
Every noise startles me
and he's no where to be found.
Not to comfort
or to hold
He's just vacant
with no room at the inn for me.

I've written him hundreds of
poetry. Even when he left me
I still
kept writing.
I'm a fool
I know.
and the sadness that
comes with it all
saturates my sheets
keeps my head foggy
and my bed empty.

Being in love is hard.
When you have no one to talk to,
and strangers get the best parts of
him.
What's left for me?
scraps in a metal bowl
that his father kicks around
because it's in the way.

I couldn't let go of him
Even when he demanded I do.
Now we're here in this space of
being together but not.
and I cry
into my pills
into my cup of tea
and it over flows
becoming salty.

Where do I go from this.
I feel it slowly breaking inside.
Being not heard or understood
on top of it all makes even more
tears kiss my pillow at night.

After I ash out the final cigar of the
night. After trying to talk to him
but he couldn't choose between me
and a computer game.

I think the answer is louder than my silence.

She whispered to me, in the hush of the night,  
A wish that cut deep, like a blade through the light.  
“When I’m gone,” she said, with a trembling breath,  
“Let the world stay asleep, unaware of my death.”

No tears to be shed, no cries in the dark,  
No mourning, no words, no flame to a spark.  
This burden is yours, in the shadows to keep,  
A silence so heavy, it crushes my sleep.

How do I hold this, a sorrow so vast,  
When memories of her are all that I have?  
My heart is a tomb, where her name is etched,  
A secret, a vow, that’s forever stretched.

I carry her absence, a wound in my chest,  
Each beat a reminder, that she’s laid to rest.  
But no one will know, not a soul will be told,  
In the still of the night, this pain forever grows.

My brother, my sister, they laugh and they live,  
Unaware of the grief I’ve no choice but to give.  
I walk with a shadow, a ghost by my side,  
In a world that moves on, while I break down inside.

A mother’s last wish, so quiet, so deep,  
Leaves me alone in a sorrow to keep.  
In the silence, I drown, in the dark, I remain,  
Bound by her love, in this infinite pain.

"I've already told you
it's like you don't understand"
" We get paid
on the 17th and
no doctor tickie,
no money"
"So I have to stay
until then
and pray they don't call"
"No it's not about therapy or work it's about the goverment"
       He says all of this and more.
It brings back memories of yesterday's
episode of
" She doesn't understand"
followed by
" It's like talking to a wall"

I'm the wall you see.
I'm the one
that doesn't understand.
It's not that I lack
the capacity to do so.
It's just when
things don't add up
I ask questions.
It shouldn't trigger a bomb
or
light
a bon fire.
At least
this one didn't
end with
him
punching
himself on the chin.

At least I don't think it did.

Each time the topic comes up-
moving here
and the steps
it takes
or God forbid
a time frame.
Everything goes
down the crapper.

It feeds my insecurities
and need for reassurance.
You see this isn't our first rodeo.
He was already suppose to be here.
Now with our second go around
and the topic of conversation is
when will he be here
All I get:
lost in translation
between
him
me
a cigarette
with tears,
angry tones and silence.

My head begins to throb.

This brings up old issues.
The time when he left me
and found
comfort in woman
*****
and drugs.
So naturally
I get afraid,
something  will come up
and I will be left
even
more
shattered
then
before.

Last night
he said,
I don't trust him.
When all I
wanted was
some comfort.
Because all I
see is I can't
ask
him
anything.

a " Hey baby it will all be okay, I want to be there just as badly as you want me there " but
No.
He told me
he didn't know
how to do that for me.
How to comfort
or what to say.
This made me
scared.
How can we last if someone is
incapable to comfort me
when I need them to.

I asked him to apologize at least
for putting me through all this.

"Would that honestly even help"
.......to my reply,
not with that attitude it won't.

After all the weeping
anger, finger pointing
and frustration
here we are today.

It's going to take longer now
longer than he initially said
and when the
discussion came up again
out of the blue
I refrain myself.
Still being told
how much
I don't
understand..

What I do know is, these
back and forth arguments
are over 400 euro.
That may or may not come
which is prolonging his trip
back home to me.

His eyes are a beautiful dark brown.
They have a way of sinking into the very fiber of my being.

and I'm tired
of things being up in the air.
Tired of being told
I'm like talking to a wall.
Tired of not finding any comfort.
That nothing
is in my control
or even his,
to be honest.

I just know none of what happened
last night and our small conversation
about it today
was worth 400 euro
not the argument
not the waiting
or the ache.

Not even this poem.

He writes poetry
sometimes three an hour
he's brilliant!
With metaphors
that bite
leaving no meat
on the bone.
A punch
straight to the chin
with his topics
and in your face
peacock strut.
You could
live and die to his
work.

I use to be his muse
back and forth
we'd send blood
red ink
with the scent of
love,
*** and
longing.
The eyes
which followed
our romance
would gush over
the blaze
beauty
and adoration
laced in each write.

I'd read the ones
blessed for me.
As time
turned to smoke
which hit the
midnight hour.

Then one day
all of it
stopped.
The flowers
went into the grave
our love
turned to
cigarette ash
which flew
straight
off the cherry.
It burned
the tattoos off my body
and he wrote me
one last write.
It was about how he
didn't mourn us.
I
was but a pebble
left on a dock
that he dropped
while walking
away from the empty
wine bottle and
dead June bugs.

He
had
moved on.
While I stayed
writing.
Each one collected dried up dust
left closed and unread by him.
As he lifted skirts and fell in love
or got too drunk and ran off with a
foreigner.
My tears soaked pages
and he wrote them poetry....
It killed parts of me
and some are still dying.

Months now, we're back together.
Only took a plane ticket,
night clubs
and fancy dinners
with white cloth napkins.
There I asked to be his again.

He doesn't write to me
like he use to.
At  gunpoint alone
will he pick up the phone
and type
me a quickie.
He tells me,
that he can't Bukowski it up
for me,
as he did for the others.
Their writes were ****, raw
emotional
and love soaked.

Is it wrong for me
to want what they had?
what I use to have?
I surely don't know
and any god of your choosing
hasn't answered me
but one other poet did.
He replied poets can be selfish.
I believe he was speaking about me.

The crickets are chirping
and I finished my cigarette
not holding my breath
for my own
Bukowski poem.

the words i wished
would come out
of my mouth
tumbled out like
luna moths
and died the
morning after

the roses you got me
on valentines day
at the bottom of
my wastebin
in ashes

i can trace the space
where you were
once hugging me

on a chilly saturday
evening, on a
walk i caught the
whiff of a lonely
cigarette

i can’t help to
be reminded
of you

now i gather your
sweaters in
a laundry basket
your cologne permeates
tears

so when i wash them
i am left wondering

where did your scent go?

I remember,
Slight glances and simply smiles,
Nods, waves and dapping the hallways.
Do you remember?

I remember,
Thinking time wasn’t on my side,
Or it was the right person wrong time when,
You said you had no manners, then introduced yourself with “hi’
When you asked for my name,
Then my number and zodiac sign
That day in the summer rain

I remember
Cuts and slices before practice,
Your hoodie
And game day,
Sitting on crowded bleachers,
Hearing missed parlays and the crowd cheering your name,

I remember,
Half truths and broken promises,
Just friends
And lost sentiments
Added lies to your body of closets,
With the weapons hidden under your bed,

I remember,
When we were oui,
And sweet memories turned bittersweet,
As I dumped Polaroids of you me,
And immaturity
Paragraphs of “I’m sorries”
With not a trace of sincerity.

I remember
Do you remember?
Or is your memory just a delusion of a picture painted to perfection
Where all flaws are non-existent,
And whatever this was,  isn’t best left as dead.

I’ll hate the way I breathe till I taste your skin
And vaporize my longing within
To shadowed withdrawals, never has-been’s and never-will be’s.
I will make myself sick gazing into your multi colored, screen broken eyes
And stutter when you picture yourself in the gift I made you
Like I was a god, who handed you honey
To make you seem so dripping sweet.
I nearly drove off road to see your car
Parked where it always was, always will be
At least in my head, so I don’t fathom you changing,
But I stayed light
Painted my walls with lies and trapped your letters in a box
To show that I did possess restraint.
Yet all I can see is me, selfish in wanting and needing
Not respecting your box of loneliness,
Or whatever you have accomplished without my guidance.
I still crave the day you realize you were wrong,
While still mourning how horrid not truly knowing you was.