Let them talk about us.
Let them wonder if “us” still exists.
Let their ears burn and their tongues wag.
I have no interest in opinion or interjection.
My life might be an open book,
But my heart, my hurts are mine alone.
I say I still love you
And you say you still love me.
But we are always lying.
Sometimes it’s me
And sometimes it’s you
But we both pretend we believe
so that we don’t hurt each other.
Someday our lies
Will catch up to us
And then who will we lie to?
I have this long standing belief,
In spite of all previous experiences to the contrary
That love will find me again
Except this time, it will blossom into a garden where now only lies dry soil
And it will be overflowing enough for everyone to get a share and come home with their own love to pass around.
So while I momentarily grieve each broken heart,
I remain steadfast in the hope that the next one will be that kind of love.
You didn’t read how our story ends
Even though it was your hand that wrote it.
Maybe you pictured yourself a hero
and I didn’t need saving.
Maybe you saw yourself kind
and I didn’t need kindness either.
But someday, when you figure out
how to love in earnest,
You’ll open up our book and read til the very end
And know that I never said it was all your fault.
It was the same road,
But a different direction.
It was the same words,
But a different intention.
When I look back
I find myself in contention
If all that ever was
my mind’s own creation.
I used to fill my days to the brim
Never giving a moment’s pause,
Ignoring your gentle tugging;
Your antics, always trying to
steer my attention; stealing what
Limited time I have to climb that
golden ladder with no end in sight.
Don’t you understand how precious
my time is and how
the softness of your lips;
Your warm breath on my ear;
Even your delicious sweat
Are all unwelcome distractions?
But now, how odd that what I thought
I didn’t have enough of, I have in such abundance;
Now I spend days hugging unwashed sheets;
Inhaling the scent from the clothes you left behind;
Remembering the words you breathed in my ear.
What will I do now with all this time?
Me? I’m fine. Really.
But if there’s a karma god out there
watching over broken pets,
you better know what to say.
You broke our cat.
Every day, she walks around the house in a daze.
In want of an explanation
of why she’s no longer getting those
ear rubs, the kind that makes her purr.
Of why she’s no longer seeing two pairs
of legs under the dinner table.
Of why her sleep isn’t interrupted
by your stubby face buried on her belly.
She peers into my eyes with her head slightly tilted
waiting for an answer that I don’t have.
Maybe it’s time you tell her
what happened to us.
It is not an easy replacement
of food over love.
While desserts are a delight to my tongue
(and so has your kisses),
And soup can warm my belly
(as your hand on it can do),
food will never pay me a compliment
or stare at me deliciously.
Falling in love with food is a one-sided affair…
which is what ours has become.
Make Room for Poetry 