I am so tired of having to try so hard to make you happy, only to lose myself in the process.
If I cannot make you happy simply by breathing, perhaps I cannot make you happy at all.
unless you’ve been there
when the world has knocked
me in the chest and released
the air from my lungs like a loose balloon;unless you’ve been there
to kiss away the memories i’ve
etched into my skin, unless
you know my scars by name;unless you’ve been there
to simply hold me when
crying becomes like breathing and
i cannot remember how to laugh;unless you’ve been there
to kiss me in the morning
after i’ve stolen the blankets
throughout the night;unless you’ve been there
to call me the day after
i couldn’t say a word, unless
you’ve stayed through dinner
with my family, unless
you’ve stuck around even though
sometimes i scare you shitless;unless you’ve kissed my forehead
after dining with me in hell,
do not tell me
you love me.
She’s sitting in her rocking chair,
her daughter at her feet.
Her hands braid the child’s hair,
who, with her voice so sweet
Asks her mother with a start
to tell the story, please
of the first boy to steal her heart
and make her weak at the knees.
She smiles and looks across the room,
remembering her young and handsome groom,
and points to him sitting in his chair,
“That’s him, my love. That’s him, right there.”
We are so much
alike that
I sometimes wonder what parts of
me
don’t have pieces
to match up with
you.
Silenticel 