Tag: spilled ink

i’m in some sort
of fucked up purgatory.
dancing between
reaching for the phone and
reaching for my throat
because
it’s my fault you’re gone
it’s my fault i’m gone
but at least i’m not
on fire anymore.

and i want to call you.
sometimes i go so far as to
hear the dial tone before i remember
i deleted your number
and never bothered to memorize it.
i never thought i’d need to.

and sometimes i go so far as to
imagine what it would be like to have you
in my life again until
i remember how much it hurt
the first time around;
how heaven and hell were never meant to be
together because
that’s what being with you was and
it was a cycle so vicious
i couldn’t for the life of me tear myself away.

but i did.

and in the process i lost
my skin from where
we were attached
at the hips.
the scar reminds me why i cannot go back.
because my hands might as well be ghosts,
the way they touch you.
because my lips are useless
if they never meet your skin.
because i will always love you,
and you
will always love someone else.

and even on my best days, my soul wasn’t enough // a.s.m

if ever you feel far from home,
please know that you are not alone.
for I, too, have wandered far
and made my bed among the stars.

and if you know not where to go,
look to the skies, the ground below
and know another pair of eyes
is seeking out the same advice.

and if your voice shakes when you speak,
please know it does not make you weak.
look at the sun– see how it shines?
you, too, were made from dust divine.

if the future makes you doubt
your life will figure itself out,
be still– the universe knows all
and does not let her dear ones fall.

and when from wand’ring you’ve had your fill
and yearn for your soul to be still,
look inside you to find peace–
the waves within will finally cease.

if within yourself your soul finds rest, you’ll discover home inside your chest // a.s.m

Fenton

i walked to the river today–

the one we hiked to 
on
our first date.

I sat in the flowers,
the same ones I sat in when

you looked at me like

I was something

you’d never seen before

and asked me what music I liked.

I walked to the river today–the one
you and I got lost

trying to find.

I hiked the trail to 
the rock where
you told me I was beautiful

for the first time.

Do you still hear my laugh

in the ripples of the river?
Do you still listen for me

when the trees sing like the rain?

Because despite all the time that’s passed,
I still see your eyes in the summer grass

between my fingers, 
and these
waters will always 
whisper your name.

I’ll Still Think of You When I Smell Cigarette Smoke

I’m sinking into the air again.
I reach out to grab your hand
but all I get is smoke. 

You aren’t anywhere to be found.
I’m getting used to turning around
and not seeing you there. 

You said you’d always be there for me. 
I found it easy to believe– 
it’s what I needed to hear. 

You made that promise long ago.
It’s my fault, I should have known
you don’t keep them so well.

And I know life swept you off your feet,
took you places you’d never dreamed.
I just thought you’d take me, too. 

So I’ve learned at the end of the day
everybody goes their own way.
I guess I should let go. 

Fe

So much can change
in so little time.
All you had– gone–
in the blink of an eye.
Don’t dwell on the past,
it’s already gone by.
Turn your face to the future
and see how it shines.
Please trust when I say
it’ll all turn out fine,
not long after darkness
the world will be bright.

My Least Favorite Word

Probably:
the guarantee
of a lukewarm promise that
may or may not be
broken.

Probably: like babbling
brooks and babies. Like
babbling on and on and on;
empty words
just to fill the space
you were so afraid
of.

Probably:
a thumbs up for empty air and
words that pop like bubbles.
A contract signed with
probably in the
fine print scares me.

As I curl into your back I whisper:
will you still love me in the morning?
Only the sticky air replies:
hopefully,
maybe,
probably.

hybrid heart

thank god for hybrids, you’d said as you looked at me
and grinned the day
the gas prices climbed.
i can get 40 miles per gallon on this baby. 
you could spend less money and
go further, and
you loved that. 

you always were thrifty.

and now
i can’t help wishing that maybe
my heart was
a hybrid, too because
the more time that
goes by,
the less you hold
my hand;
the less you tell me you
love me
and i’m trying to
make us run with
less and less gas, but
i’m not sure how much
further we can
go. 

When I left you, I was scared that I had left a part of me behind– the part that loved long hikes, exploring, deep talks, learning, and spontaneous day trips to small towns. I believed that you were part of what made me who I was, and if you weren’t in my life, I wouldn’t be adventurous or kind or spontaneous anymore. I didn’t see that all of that was already in me. I thought I needed you in order to love myself. 

I could not see that everything I loved about you– all the things I loved doing with you– were already inside me. I didn’t need you. I don’t need you. Everything I was scared to lose about you, I’ve discovered in myself. It was there all along, it was just masked in our relationship. I don’t need you to be myself. I am me without you. I am the same without you.

That’s the funny thing about pain,” she said. “You suffer through it. And looking back, you’ll remember that you had it. But you’ll never be able to remember exactly how it felt– only how huge it seemed to be. You’ll remember that you were hurting, who hurt you, and how. But once you overcome the pain, your heart callouses. You won’t be able to feel the knives in your lungs anymore, or the way every word they said was a hammer to your ribcage. Eventually, it becomes a black and white memory of something you had experienced in color. And in some ways that is so beautiful,” she mused, “because it allows us to try again despite all we’ve been through.

somebody once told me you can’t re-feel past pain