Posted on by Christina Strigas · 2 Comments

what is said and what is done

you can’t trust a stranger with your truth

you get fed up of speaking so much

and listening to so little. you can ask

a question and it turns into an accusation.

you can guess his name, but he changes

the letters on you. you can tell him

i love you

he’ll stare at you

as if you should not have said that

and when you turn your back

he’ll respond

i love you

years later, and you will wonder

does he even mean it

is he saying that to shut me up?

you can love him

so much the ache keeps you up at night.

you can stare at his photo all you want

but his sunglasses are always on

he won’t look you in the eye,

he won’t fight for you, he won’t

make you pick. he wants you

sitting tight, never asking

where he goes, or why he only

shows you what he wants

you to know. he is happy

not having all of you.

he only wants you for an hour

not eight.

don’t take it personal

he told you so

but he refuse to listen

when you should.

it’s fine now, after seven years

you finally realized

he has been telling you

the truth all along

you just didn’t pay attention.

Posted on by Christina Strigas

making my lists before dawn

even if it looks as if I am living my life

I am always writing in my head

about the time my hydrangeas stopped blooming and turned green

that time I waited inside the Met looking at the Greek statues and you never showed up

going to the top of Tokyo and almost barfing

your manicured hands on my pre-teen skin

the apartment number I lost my virginity in

picking you up after a meeting and having a latte on Chabanel street

Crying in a bathroom with blood on my thighs

confessing to a tombstone

never going to church except for weddings and funerals

loving you more than you ever will

expecting too much from nothing

making lists of dog bones, tablecloths and mouthwash

and still you somehow squirmed yourself into my words again

without ever trying.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 2 Comments

black coffee and philosophy

My black coffee is warm, the sun is peeking.

It said 7:02. I don’t understand

how phones can answer most of my questions

except the philosophical ones of how you can

be one person with two eyes

and another with an eye in the middle. It seems

most men are like this, it’s not a surprise.

I learned it from young, but the hope keeps

rising like your hardness. I wished I never

saw you now. I wished I never knew you now.

I thought you were someone else, excuse me.

I thought you spoke my language, you never

did. You researched me, googled me, and

made my name too large in print. It’s just a

name. I’m no one special. You’re the radiohead

song.

I think I see you everywhere, but

the truth is, all these thoughts are pointless.

My coffee is still warm and my libido

is still alive. I’m baking lemon cakes

now, I’m wearing no underwear.

I’m mentally ill now, I’m going crazy.

Aren’t you happy for me? I may even

try to kill myself for you. Wouldn’t

you love to have a trophy of all

of us? Lined up and direct

in reality

telling you how we are all so crazy,

so nuts–

to for have fallen for you.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 2 Comments

don’t bother

to call me, I blocked your number,

don’t bother to search for me, I left your city,

don’t bother to want me, move onto the one from Ottawa,

she’s closer to home. Don’t bother to create new blogs

to scare me, it only makes me think you’re insane.

Don’t bother to come here, my city is dead.

Don’t bother to pretend, I see through your

disguise. Don’t bother to text me, I delete

and forget. Don’t bother to read me, it’s old

trauma news. you need a new fix, a new

supply and I’m so cold now. it’s like i’m

dead, i’m not even breathing. you knew

me once, don’t bother to bring up the past,

i’ve dug a whole in the train tracks.

isn’t it better this way? i can read books

i can leave my phone under a car seat

i can stop caring, looking, being your drug

you so easily replace me, from the one one before,

after, and now. it’s the present. you better

make your move, message her, tell her

all the lies, trap her, entice her, do

your dirty deeds, it’s the only way. i can’t wait

to be forgotten. please forget me.

don’t bother to find me. i’m in a new life.

Posted on by Christina Strigas

in the room

sometimes all i want to do is

be in a room with you

with a lock and no key

just us

a piece of you meant only for me

a moment where no one can

see how the light does not come kn

how the darkness tells us

what to not do

we know how to break the rules

how to be bad and good

at the same time

room 616

room 239

room 109

room without me

room without you

it’s a poem

I love how you

touched me.

before, after

and during

Posted on by Christina Strigas

Time

no matter how much time passes

love is in the kitchen

cooking a new meal

adding the same ingredients

while you watch my hips

move up and down

this track of life

no more poems

are for me

they have always been

about you and your lies

while your family goes to dinner

your wife throws you a surprise party

buys you your favorite cologne

and you only want to change my mind

with more lies about my beauty and heritage

I will never get over you

or under you

I’m merely another number

while you are the only one.

I won’t believe anything

from your lips.

I will recreate the kiss

in my head, in my bed.

Posted on by Christina Strigas · 5 Comments

i took all my books out of the way

i made a path for you to walk into

but you send me cryptic messages

i can’t understand. i’m not that smart

i think in beats, rainbow schemes,

i want to finish writing this poem

before he gets here and breaks my

silence into too many questions

i avoid answering. i removed my

poems for you, made you walk

straight into my heart and pull

it apart with my own weakness.

i never should have trusted you

with that one secret, you haunt

me with it, pass it around my

air like a ball. you’re playing

with my vulnerability. i tell

you to fuck off instead of good

night and in the morning you

wonder why i left for work

so early and we don’t talk again

until the following day

where we start over and forget

the past. it’s what we call

staying married these days.