everyone is wearing them now
before this pandemic we wouldn’t even know
the truth from the lies
how lovers should understand more
how lovers should never be bored
with each other. with their skin
yet here we are in masks worn thin
and we have not even left the house.
You’re on my mind, like a song that plays
a guitar that keeps bleeding.
a flower constantly blooming
all the impossible events
like skies that cry
words that matter.
You know what I mean
when I don’t mean it.
Yet you make me feel like a coccoon
stuck in one phase
or a glass butterfly
that never changes;
a gift from my birthday
you never wrapped up.
You should have done all the things
you meant to do.
not merely talk about them
drunk one night
that doesn’t count.
a rush of adrenaline
straight to the soul
whether you like to admit it
or not, drinking is the solution
to reality. guilty of feeling
too much for you. guilty
of loving too much of you.
all that is apparently true
is not. I know what it means
to feel your sting of jealousy
when you mean to be sweet
and delicious. It’s not me–
it’s you. You have it all wrong
when I promise nothing.
I can make you love on the
balance on your
bed with one foot.
all the tricks you
asked me to do
I didn’t even want them
all I want
is what you can’t give me.
Listening to subscribed channels about loving myself
is probably more harmful than actually loving.
You can abandon people and they are still in the dark
even if I research the best methods of unloving someone
it can’t be done. Rooms wait for people to walk into
and as long as I wait for you, you can’t come in
to see me. It’s fine. I prefer it that way. Death beds
are such beautiful places to end up in. Heaven
is a place you described once, while I wasn’t
in the room. I can see you there talking to her
and pretending I don’t exist. It’s fine. It’s not fine.
I’m absent from this part of the story.
You can use me up until I say no more. It’s coming.
That day you dread. Death sucks up love at will.
You can go about your silence. It has no guilt.
It’s been such a long time I haven’t seen your face
maybe you don’t believe in the same books anymore
I see a garden stopped growing
journals overflowed with moss
I am giving up on this whole
we got so much time
because honestly, we don’t
time soaks us with truth
and keeps on creating death
to remind us
that we won’t live forever
even if you sing about it.
Hello beautiful people,
It’s been too long since I wrote on my blog. I miss you guys. I will be back soon. Just a quick note to tell you I love you and I have missed you.
I am so excited to share this poem with the world.
Published for the first time in “The Temz Review.”
Please click on link and read it along with some other fantastic poems.