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Make Room for Poetry

If It Gives You Peace

Why do you feel the need to discredit me

To make our parting sound as though you had expected it from the start?

I cam into this relationship with just as much fervor as you did.

Believe it or not, I had the highest hopes that ours would be the one to beat;

That ours would be the standard all our friends would be holding a candle to.

But now that I’ve finally accepted that it’s not working out for either of us,

I have to be the villain?

While I’ve realized it’s nothing that you did,

I also recognize that it’s nothing I did or didn’t do that caused the collapse.

It simply didn’t work out.

The fact that I struck the final blow that led to the demise of us didn’t make it any less painful for me,

Didn’t give me the satisfaction that you imagined I got.

But go ahead and assail my person if it’s your way of making sense of what had happened.

I’m just happy I didn’t waste more of our time.

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Out of Steam

You were always the fast one—

A rocket, a comet

Shooting sparks wherever you went.

I took a backseat

Content at looking

At the bright trail you left.

Spent, you finally came back,

Ready to take things slow

Willing to stay put.

But my heart had grown so old.

You were out of steam,

And I was out of patience.

Forgotten

You’ve forgotten

And they’ve forgotten

And the world has moved on

And for your eyes, I moved on with it.

I laughed as if my shattered heart

Was finally mended.

I nodded along to all your stories

So that you wouldn’t feel obliged to be concerned

Or to talk about me in hushed tones.

But the truth is (and this I will never admit)

That I loved with all my heart and lost

And that is something that I will never forget.

Post Love

I am post love—

Free from the binds that held me tight

Released from the delusions of what might

have been.

I am post hurt—

Now I can see in plain sight

That I am strong and you are right

To let me go.

I am post you—

I now accept that I am day and you are night

Unburdened, my heart feels light

And buoyant once more.

Lingering

There is a residual feeling

that lingers on my skin.

Like a limb that’s no longer there,

I still feel your hand

on the small of my back

Your thumb,

Drawing circles on my neck.

I am haunted by your touch.

The minute I leave your side,

I yearn for your warmth,

Your breath,

Your lips.

I close my eyes and

Savor everything that lingers

Until I see you again.

An Ode to The Little Prince’s Rose

I had but one rose

The only one I suppose

That I’d ever want to have.

When she first emerged

From her bud

A flood of beauty

Swept me off my feet.

What a thrill

But how to fill

Her vanity?

Fuss I did

I fussed all day

To make her stay.

I grew tired

Of her constant need

And yet I feed

On her radiance

On her fragrance

I should’ve run

Until I did.

But before I left

I saw her bereft

Of her thorns

And she said

With gentle sweetness

That my weakness

Was hers as well.

Many worlds

May unfold

But she was

And always will be

My only rose.

© 2018 Anj CP

*I’ve always been a fan of The Little Prince. I wanted to capture in this poem the complicated love story he had with his rose.

I’ve Fallen For You

It is too late for grand interventions;

I’m too far in to turn back now.

Don’t waste your breath

Dissuading me from my feelings;

Reminding me of every time I said

It would be my last time;

Pointing to your salt-crusted shoulder,

The one I’ve always cried on.

I can’t help it…I’ve fallen for you.

And you might think it’s a mistake.

But here’s the thing,

I already know it’s a mistake

I’m willing to make.

Blurred Lines

I thought it was very clear to us

Where we stood.

That we’d only be together

If it made sense.

If it were convenient for you,

And it was convenient for me,

We’d do lunch.

Or if you needed to talk

And I had some time to kill,

I’d listen to your stories.

But lately I’ve noticed,

I’d stay up later than I would have

To hear your voice on the phone.

Worse, I’d hop on a train without hesitation

To eat with you.

I don’t know if I’ve crossed the line

Or if that line is still there

Now that I wish handshakes became

Hands held.

A Different Ending

If our love were a book, We’d be on the first few pages

Where everything smells of 

Freshly opened packaging

With each page crisp

And immaculately white. 
But, oh, how I know

How this will all end

Because I’ve opened many 

Books such as this

And no matter how careful I am 

The binding bends.
Pages get torn, smudged, 

Folded and marked.

Words that started out so

Beautifully begin making 

Less and less sense.

And I lose my interest,

Never finishing till the end. 
I promise myself that next time

I’ll pick a better book. 

That I’ll try harder to finish

Until the very last page. 

Maybe I’m just an eternal hopeful. 

Or maybe, I just like opening new things. 

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