Tag: poem

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. 

But if it’s frozen and full of tar, it can never break

When your eyes freeze and turn to ice
I need to run or
I am impaled by your words
like darts—the poison
seeps into my blood stream and
I carry the venom
inside me until it claws at me
from inside my veins, restless
to get out.

So much
venom thickens my blood to tar and
fills the cracks of my heart
with lead,
and the only way to forgive myself for
being cold enough to freeze you, too, is
to let it out.

So when they scratch
and wriggle in my veins,
I cut them loose and
watch the black venom 
drip out. 

Two In One

I knew the lonely parts of your heart. 
They were my campgrounds
when my walls began to burn and
the ash and smoke threatened
to suffocate me beneath my
crumbling ribcage. 

When it was winter in my heart, 
and my veins became 
frozen red rivers, 
you always had a fire going
in yours. 
I would huddle inside the 
crevices between
your atriums and swim in your
bloodstream until I, too, was red
underneath your skin.