You said sorry…
Finally after weeks of treading through your lies like I was on some mystic safari.
Such a short word.
Just like that my feelings expected to change, be simply transferred.
Because you fessed up to lies I’d already caught you in.
And now your consequences you pretend to humbly take on the chin.
Because of that you’re the bigger man.
Because of my resistance, I’m the smaller woman.
But things went against your game plan.
They might believe you, trust in you.
But I see your wheels turning.
I’ve always seen right through you.
You said you’re sorry.
With tears in your eyes.
Said we were worth more than all your worldly possessions.
And honestly that was concerning.
you expected to see in my eyes tears, starry.
My trust in you, downsize.
I see through you, disguise.
No more, compromise.
I’ll beat you every time despite my pint-size.
And in the end I’ll be the one who drives you to the edgewise.
your end I’ll authorize.
For now though I’m stuck reading between the lies of your innocent sounding apologies.
Every word you say I now analyze.
I’m sitting with a Swatch, swatting you away like a swarm of house flies.
You said you can’t, those memories left repressed.
I’ve already labeled you;adulteress.
But I forgot you said you’re sorry.
You said it slurred.
Sorry; the start of erasing of past sins.
Sorry I’m supposed to forget your sins.
If I don’t I’m the dilemma.
The greatest sin not to forgive and forget; send me to Gehenna.
So your notes; every apology I keep in my nightstand.
Always on hand.
You say this time is different.
To your words I’m ignorant.
Despite sitting across from you with my legs, folded and a smile on my face.
You hardly know who you’ve crossed.
This time is different .
But not because you say so, but because I’m a different me.
House fly you swarm over carcasses you’ve never earned.
It’s the only way you know how to survive. Of that, I’m unconcerned.
I see you in my sights.
Turn down the lights.
You promised it was supposed to be different this time?
I waited for the change, gave you ten thousand chances.
Waited, all the way to December.
You made excuses said it was the circumstances.
But it’s my turn to sin.
I’ve kept your secrets in.
I’ve been a subordinate you’ve been the kingpin.
you’ve underestimated me.
To you I’m weak.
You’re in my line of sight.
You’ve lost the fight it’s that simple black and white.
I paint our love in the form of landscapes.
The burning orange of the sun, fiery like the passion in this love I call ours.
Cloudy days, the moments in time where together we lay.
And in the rain are the times I’ve fought for our love to piece by piece stay.
Paint our love the color blue.
Sketch the starry night with your pencil.
Dance stars over the perfect days spent together.
Let the stars in the Milky Way describe the billions of ways you say you love me.
Shoot the stars across the sky for the words we say but do not mean.
Be my constant lover like the moon.
Love me forever.
Kiss me in phases.
Color me the color blue.
And spin me in a hurricane of your pain.
I’ll bring the storms in to wash it away.
Paint our love the color of the sunsets.
Draw the night sky over our body.
Cover our bodies with the canvass, of your desire.
Sculpt my heart with your hands.
Mold me into everything you desire.
Wrap me in blue.
Until the universe recognizes no difference, between you and me and it’s constellations.
Sketch floral outlines over me
And kiss me in the green grasses you create
Paint your love in every form between heaven and earth.
It’s not cheating Claudette
He’s married now and I’m okay with that
I’m not the evil type of ex.
I scroll through his Instagram and think that together they look wise
Just a little bit older than I.
And maybe that’s the reason behind why there was never a you and an I.
I was still in my twenties when we met.
Her name is something like claudette.
She’s closer to your age and she’d already gotten you to wear a flower in your suit jacket pocket.
Your picture is the one hung around her neck in a golden locket.
Your mother’s diamond band is now sitting on her finger.
Hands around her waist the photograph together you linger.
He’s got a car now and place of his reached all those married man milestones.
The ones that with me he postponed.
And I wonder if together it all should have been ours.
Wait a moment, that voice in the back of my throat sounds a bit dryer.
I need a drink to sound a little less sour.
Claudette, yeah that’s her name, that’s what I see in your instagram post.
She should get a medal I would have never been able to get you to wear that couture.
I’m not the evil type of Ex.
I’m the type of ex that he can still run into on the street.
Without the meeting being too bittersweet.
On the cobble stone ones, with the red booth across and the black lamps that form a line over the bridge. The one’s where we used to kiss.
They’re he’ll introduce me to his new wife.
Say I’m an old friend; someone from the past.
We’ll passively discuss our professional life.
I’ll stand and smile and ask if he still likes that ice cream they used to sell on the street where 1st and 3rd crash.
He’ll say he hasn’t had that in years.
That he prefers to indulge in beers.
That he didn’t even know it still existed.
And I’ll recognize I’ve been put in my place, the details of his life I’ve been prohibited.
That him was the old one, and I don’t know the new him.
That’s a truth that’s a bit grim.
Once he was my best friend.
Now we’re stranger’s he’s just a guy I’ll use to know, in the end.
And then I’ll grab the hand of the man I’ll call boyfriend.
And together they’ll greet.
Two men who once had me.
They talk of there tales
To him he’ll quietly challenge.
He’ll ask me if with him I’m really happy?
Does it matter?
The men will talk.
While us women look at each other in a sort of denial.
We aren’t friend or enemies, we know we’re somehow connected through the wires.
In a way we’re family for the man between us together we’ve lived the same life.
Her in reality.
Me in the 3-D virtual simulations of sim’s village’s that together we constructed.
I think we will both always think it could have been us.
Not in regret.
Just in fact.
We talk and then you go forward and I go my way after adhering to this social contract.
My new man’s hand I’ll grip a little harder.
I took everyone’s advice.
He’s a lot younger than you.
But he lacks that sort of maturity that you always had.
I’m not saying I regret it.
It’s just a fact.
My neck I hold a little higher.
Trying to tell myself not look back.
Alas, I’m weak.
Over my man’s arm I look back.
He wasn’t any stronger.
His hands are wrapped around her back.
But his eyes were glued to the nape of my neck.
There are flicks of grey in his hair, and creases in the corners of his eyes as he smiles at me goodbye.
We don’t get a second chance and that’s alright.
We’ve made our choices.
It’s our plight.
So we’ll stick with it, because to people like us vows mean something.
We get married, buy houses, make babies, and live our lives in denial.
We’re happy; in this version of our life portrayal.
We don’t always think one one another.
Only on the days we do…hmm.
In a few years we’ll flock in the same friend circles.
Suddenly in full control of our past urges.
Then we’re pressing that blue follow button following each other on instagram.
When were together I’ll no longer need to down two capsules of diazepam.
You aren’t really an ex anymore.
Your are a friend.
You aren’t a stranger.
And sometimes I wonder if in that there’s danger.
But then again our spouse are best friends.
Next thing we know where in your wife’s dining room eating pork roast with wine, how very adult.
I don’t think we would have ever believed this to be our result.
We make fun over the fact that you and I used to be a we.
I’ll fake a gag when it’s brought up.
But I catch you cutting your eyes at me when we laugh.
You look at me and not your wife.
But she doesn’t notice that.
Which is funny because she was the one who was supposed to be older and wiser.
That’s why in the end you choose her.
You’ll have a son and I’ll have a daughter.
We’ll raise them to be best friends.
You and I will dream about them getting together.
It’s a stupid dream really.
Just us trying through them to live vicariously through.
See I’ve never been the jealous kind of Ex.
At your wedding I danced.
You kissed my cheek at mine and offered a toast and that wasn’t just by circumstance.
All these years later the summer of us ;was just that.
Now, us four sit best of friends in your winter flat.
You and I won’t ever touch.
Or look at each other with lust, of that I can’t begrudge.
But when were laughing I know it’s to me you look.
And every Sunday you’ll stand at that ice cream stand where you said you never went.
You grab ice cream for two.
I know this place you often frequent.
I know now you never really became a stranger.
Falling in love with you of that I’ll always be in danger.
Our lives haven’t been the greatest.
But neither have then been the worst.
We won’t ever know if we would have made it in reality.
I was in my twenties.
And you were in your late thirties.
Maybe it was best this way
Us always loving each other, but never being able to call you and I; ours.
We were never the jealous Ex’s.
You’re just my best friend.
And that’s how I know we were really the best of lovers.
Because even without the perks of love.
Each other we’ve always thought the world of.
So let’s sit pretending were only in brotherly love.
You with your wife.
Me with my husband.
Our kids on our laps.
Eating off our plates, the scraps.
Us pretending to sip the wine we chug.
Out of our coffee mugs.
Let‘s finish out this life as the best of friends.
And hope parts of our lives have been reincarnated in the eyes of my daughter and your son.
Even this young I can kind of see a spark.
But maybe it’s just me dreaming in the idea that we could be if they just loved one another.
I wasn't flying.
Peeled back pasty eyed I wasn't riding on a pink cloud.
Last night was I really crowdsurfing?
I'm too old for this; believe me I'm not proud.
There's a haze clementine perfume in the air.
On the floor sits my beachwear.
On the celling, my words spell sentences.
My love confessions.
The one I'd confessed before downing the three bottle of vodka that you'd hidden under the countertop.
Later maybe I'll crawl and beg in repentance.
Alcohol on my breath sticky on my skin, this feels like the start of depression.
To kick this I need enough caffeine to fill a coffee shop.
Wobbled leg I stand.
Somehow I'm still trapped in a sort of fairyland.
I'm still riding on the pink cloud.
I used to write you cards with little hearts and stick men.
I'd draw cards with hearts and clouds and a picture of us.
I would seal it up and slip it under your door saying 'I Love You."
My small hands used to grip yours as I said "I Love You."
My first moment of consciousness I remember believing that I'd always love you.
Now I'm older I find myself fumbling over those three little words.
I stutter when I use it.
I drop the "I", thinking 'love ya' is easier to say.
Because now that I'm older I don't know how to say "I love you."
I miss the days when it was simple.
I miss the days of childhood innocence.
I miss believing in love.
How do I say I love you now I'm older?
Little pictures just won't do.
I'm too old to hold your hand or sit on your lap.
How do I say I love you?
I wish I could go back in time.
Back to the old days sitting on the speckled green countertops.
The kitchen window open; crushing Oreo's for a cheesecake crust.
In that moment of childhood consciousness, I knew it was never going to be easier than it was in that moment.
I knew with white floral bowl in your hands; you stirring the mixture; dancing to some heart broken love sick bachata balled that life was not always going to be this way.
With my legs too far from the ground to reach the floor, my mind far from fully conscious. I remembered feeling strangely sad.
Because the moment was fleeting.
This perfection was temporary.
When you dipped your finger in the batter and dolloped it on my nose saying "I love you."
I knew I'd always keep that memory close.
We never made Oreo cheesecake again.
And after that day I clung to childhood innocence.
Hanging on by a thread.
Waiting for the day the thread snapped, telling me my time was up.
Childhood was over.
The thread snapped its frayed edges I held close to, perhaps that's the reason I still don't know how to say, "I love you."
It wasn’t how loves supposed to feel
And now I know, that wasn't how love was supposed to feel.
It was too early for my feelings to queue.
After all, I really did not know the real you.
The identity of us, we relished in, that was our downfall.
For the first time I saw you without the rose-colored glasses.
In that instant I knew the real you.
I scratched our names out of the walls of the sistine chapel.
What we had should have never been written on those holy church walls.
What we had should have never been written on those holy church walls.
Suddenly my heartbeat sway to a waltz and your's a tango.
So quickly we fell out of harmony.
I came out of those pink clouds of sobriety.
I landed on steady feet when I realized to heaven our love hardly belonged.
When you caught my breathe I felt the collapse of my lungs.
You took my breathe and I trusted you to return it to my soul.
But cruelly you held my breathe in your hands watching as I sank not a myrrh of dust.
This isn't how love's supposed to feel.
You were a mistake.
I won't forget you.
I won't dare regret you.
Now I know how it's supposed to feel I know how it should feel.
I've accepted this momentary heartache.
Too long I've lingered in the hope of what if.
But deep down think I always knew our love wasn't true.
we didn't end in five days it was more like fifty-five days,
I'm already seeing myself without the idea of you.
I hate that you were the first to my heart evade.
But I won't take that from you.
you're good at what you do but I played the game better.
in this love crusade I won.
I'll admit that you seeing me beyond my worst healed my heart.
You assumed the power to take off my cloak of invisibility.
I showed you pieces of my soul even though I think now I was merely an object.
You sprayed poison over the butterflies you awakened.
My legs no longer shaky my thoughts no longer innocent.
I gave you the keys to the mechanical beatings of my chest.
But now I've taken them back, my heart I remain the owner of.
You may have come in the night and burglarized my heart.
And for a moment I kept the lights out.
I didn't call for help.
But when I turned on the lights I recognized who you were beyond the sweet words.
Between your lingering gazes.
beyond your kind smiles.
I saw monsters wear different types of faces.
and in the kindest of eyes is where demons lie.
Funny funny joke no it’s not
She called herself witty and yet she never said one thing of wit.
Which made her entire being seem almost counterfeit.
But what never made sense was that ironically the less wit she possessed made her seem all the more comical.
And I know that seems illogical.
Her words always felt like they were funny but the truth was that no one ever was laughing at her speech.
Though that truth they would never breech.
Rather they were laughing at her.
And the words that passed out of her mouth like a blur.
The dim-witted humor was almost charming.
Half her jokes were rather alarming.
It wasn't what she said more like how she said it.
Rather it was when she said it.
Like the time she tumbled down a flight a steps when a joke fell flat, pun most definitely intended.
It wasn't what she said, it was mostly how she looked.
Her earrings always unhooked.
Speech as slow as molasses.
Clothes always old never in style.
Tall red socks and polka dot shoes.
A pocket full of the blues.
Everyone always seemed to laugh with her.
Even though she was clearly an amateur.
And so one day it all got in her head.
Next thing she knew she was standing on stage with a microphone in her hand.
Somehow in high-demand.
I always believe it was just all a sort of manifestation.
Which I say in vexation.
She spoke her humor into existence.
Only taking the path of least resistance.
Her corny jokes she spoke never really realizing that she was the bud of every joke.
Supermarket love story
It all started with one ice cream tub.
I told myself that is was just going to be this one time.
One indulgence after losing him.
A sort of post break-up pain killer.
But then it became my everything.
Just like he'd been.
It became apart of my routine.
Just like our little date night's were.
I hate myself for acting like a teenager in a sitcom.
Everyone asks me what's wrong.
And I pretend that I'm okay.
When really every night I sit in my room with the light's out questioning where I went wrong.
Ice cream in hand, as I analyze every choice I ever made.
I suppose that the stuff was a simple reminder that there was still sweetness left in the world.
Now three months without you and yet the habit's remained.
Now I can't get enough of it.
I'm pleasured and sickened by it's taste.
At this point I know it's all just toxic waste.
Ten pounds later and next thing I know I'm staring at you in the frozen aisle of a publix supermarket.
This heartbreak, is nothing that I can sugarcoat.
The past lover, and the thing that got me through.
Both in the same space.
I hold a laugh in, thinking if I'd only had a preview of my life would I have gone through with it all?
I'm 5'61/2 and standing and still this is the lowest position that I've been in.
I'm in front of you, a living shrine of the love that we once shared.
The sweatshirt that you lent me, no longer oversized.
The kisses you left on my neck still there.
The promise ring you left me still stuck on my finger.
The slippers you bought me no longer new.
My long hair no longer golden or long.
And that's something that I do actually regret.
Liver soaked in wine the last thing I'd needed the night you left me were scissors.
Now you are standing in front of me.
You pretend like you can't see the bags that hide beneath my eyes.
Like I haven't been crying these past three months.
Like I'm still that golden girl you left behind.
You look at me like you looked at me the first time we met.
The fireworks in our chest exploding like they did that random night in may.
You ask how I'm doing?
I lie in reply.
I say I'm fine.
I think we both know it's all lies.
The freezers stacked with ice cream send a chill down my spine.
For the first time I look at your face and see that these past months haven't been kind to you either.
You look dead.
And I find myself wishing I had taken that route too.
You run your hand through your hair for what seems like the thousandth times.
And I mirror your actions on what's left of my hair.
I turn the question to you and ask how are you?
You repeat my line.
And I know that isn't true.
The scars on your wrist and my throat; evidence that we aren't okay.
Our thoughts echo in the silence of these grocery aisles.
I wonder what would happen if we listened to the silence.
Said nothing and I just grabbed your hand and dragged you back home with me, where you belong.
I tug on the sweat shirt, hoping it might jog your memory of what we once were.
I glance at the aisle's lined with freezers and I recognize that I have a choice.
Either choice is nothing more than a humiliation.
A tear rolls down my cheek.
And as though you've read my mind; in your dirty work boots you step forward too.
The mud covers my fluffy slippers.
Your arms wrap around the sweatshirt you once called yours.
Your hands on me where they should have always been.
I think you must be blind you must see only the old me.
This version of me is no good.
Neither of us really are though.
We walk out of this aisle arm in arm.
The only one we know we'll ever cross.
For a while we will be okay.
Our vices will be only each other.
In truth I think we both know we'll be standing right back here in a couple of months.
We're a beautiful disaster.
I'll lose these ten pounds
I'll toss out the ice cream.
My hair will return I'll be the golden girl again for a moment.
You'll comb your hair.
Your color will come back.
You'll gain the ten pounds I lost.
Our scars will heal.
Only to be replaced in a few month's when we attempt to make it in this world without one another, again.
We're are the definition of insanity.
We try the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.
But we both know how we'll end.
And yet we still hope that in the end this time we'll stick.
That this will be the last time that we will walk into the supermarket and resuming our love story.
What is a heart without a soul?
We are captured in a trap of soul clenching quiet.
The capsule of our thoughts enclosed.
Temperamental love we have bound by a reclusively that no one else could ever suppose.
This love of ours is not for the weak of heart.
We deem all incandescent perfection but that's only in its imaginary parts.
In our every move we break each other's hearts.
No part of us is hidden, in each other's eyes our very flesh remains exposed.
And I know we must learn to let go.
But it's seems that would be like giving the death blow.
I tell myself that you can't be my only one.
But with lover's I've never been overrun.
I say the world is full of soul mates.
Each one just finds another part of your soul to cling to, at any rate.
I convince myself that the heart is a muscle.
with pieces to be put back together like a puzzle.
And once it loves it can never stop.
It's lover's remains forever in it's vault.
once it breaks it grows back stronger.
With each tear it learns to faithful stay longer.
Broken bones still shift.
They still feel.
Even when lovers, are adrift.
Love it cannot conceal.
I separate heart and mind.
The only hinderance of love is ever lost in the mind, that's the problem with humankind.
But what is a heart without a soul?
It's just something that beats.
Something squeezing, and struggling.
I'm lost in this lovesickness black hole.
I've tried to back space our story, I hold the button to delete.
These emotions I juggle.
My mind reasons with me, tells all the logic.
But the love that runs through my veins is toxic.
And I can't let you go.
Another lover I've attempted to borrow.
But see my heart and mind is forever connected.
All other lovers I've rejected.
Despite you breaking me over and over another lover I will never have.
There may be a world of soul mates.
But I have but one soul.
I’ve searched for loopholes.
But to you I must confess my heart will always belong.
I think we’ve know it all along.
So break me, torture me set my soul of fire
Despite it all i am yours and you are mine.
You’ve possessed me and the possession has spread within me like a wildfire.
One day we will give up the fight and give ourselves to each-other
recognizing the day our souls connected we were forever intertwined.