Tag: breakup poem

Why do I miss someone who doesn’t exist? Why do I miss something that wasn’t even real?

it’s always going to seem better in your memories than it really was, but remember why you did it. remember that you are worth it. 

You’re Everywhere

You were a new coat of black
polish on my naked nails. 
I settled in quickly, not waiting for you
to dry. 
And as I touched and sat and wrote and ran
you began 
to chip away, and
in little flecks throughout our path
I have left the smallest pieces of you where
only I can find them. 

You Were Scared I’d Break You, But You Broke Me

Why were you so scared
to touch me? 
Did you think the fire would spread
from your fingertips to your tongue–
that I’d burn you? 
Or that I’d splinter
under your skin and bury myself
so deep, I’d be impossible
to pull out? 
Did you believe I’d shatter and
draw your precious blood? (you never
had enough blood to give)
Or were you scared
I’d pull you in closer; that you’d have nowhere
to hide? 

Maze

All my mind is what if’s and self accusation,
but I know our limbs didn’t fit together quite right.
I know we both were in our heads far more than
we were in each other’s arms, and that
even with you next to me, we were galaxies apart.
And like any other maze,
we knew there was only one way out.
Yet we ran through narrow corridors and high walls,
frantically searching for anything
but dead ends.

My Name Never Really Fit On Your Lips Anyway.

Your grand plans 
reflected in your irises but
your mind was never here
with me. 

You only knew how to
listen with your ears, so
when I spoke with
my eyes, I could scream and still
not be heard. 

Your hands were frantic–always
moving, always reaching, always
grabbing– for something in the future.
You zig-zagged across 
stepping stones. 

You wanted to crown everything
on your to-do list, and my name
was at the bottom. So
I will check myself off for you,
my dear, because
my name does not belong buried
at the base of your toy chest. 

The Poem I Didn’t Want To Write (I hoped this wouldn’t be about you)

I said 
they were all sad. 
That they were about
pillow-hearts ripped
at the seams, and feeling small
enough to be folded and tucked into
your shoe–forgotten about until 
one day I’d tickle your toes, and
you’d pull me out–soft and 
worn at the edges. 
That I hoped they’d 
never be about you. 

And yet, I am
overstuffed, spilling over with
all of the words I wished 
I’d pushed off the edge of
my lips
before I walked away. I am
praying on this paper
just to keep myself
sane, 
just to keep myself from
crying about one more person
I’m supposed to stop loving;
one more person
I’m supposed to forget.