I just started a Wattpad with a new batch of poems. I am sending out two poetry manuscripts, but while I wait for the rejections, I am creating a new book for your pleasure for free for fun.
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
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
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.
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.
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
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
telling you how we are all so crazy,
to for have fallen for you.
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.
sometimes all i want to do is
be in a room with you
with a lock and no key
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 without me
room without you
it’s a poem
I love how you
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.
I am so excited that Coffin Bell Journal chose my poem, “Dead Wife” for best of the Net 2020. I am attaching the link to it. Please leave a comment. https://coffinbell.com/dead-wife/
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.