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.

I Tried Not To Sink, But I Ended Up Drowning

Saying I love you was never a question.
It was the answer
to the way your fingers fit perfectly
between mine.

It was the pause where I knew
it belonged
every time we said goodbye.

It was the way I laughed
instead of rolling my eyes
when you’d fart under the covers, and
the way doing the dishes together was just as fun
as the actual party.

I love you.

It would run out of my mouth
without me thinking,
just like love is.

Without thinking.

Without blinking.

Without sinking.

Closure

When you walked out
of my heart, you left
the door wide open.
I poured my soul out
on a paper plane
and chucked it through the
fragile frame,
hoping you’d read the words:
“Please come home.”

I sat for weeks, waiting for you
to close the gaping hole
you carelessly left;
for you to walk through and
apologize for letting the bugs in, you hadn’t meant to, it was a mistake.
but you never did,
so I got up and closed
the damn door myself.

Pink Thread

You wrapped your finger around the loose end
and pulled and pulled and pulled until
it broke;
an absentminded afterthought
hurriedly shoved into the armrest of my car
on your way out.
The hemmed end of your shirt left frayed and
blowing in the wind as
you walked away;
a sad reminder of how it used to be before
it’s innards were pulled out.

Weeks fall away and it still sits there—
the small ball of pink thread;
the mark of your territory on my heart.
The last piece of you. The only thing
holding us together.