The hues of light around the anger

Every day is a blur of the one before

and the one before that

and the one happening now.

I am changing the date on my journal

to keep track. For a while there,

I stopped.

I felt darkness around the

days of the week and months.

I feel this abyss will never end.

I don’t know what will save me from

the days. Nothing really. My coffee is warm.

The longer I stare out my window

at my lilac tree, the colder it gets.

You wake up and want my attention

you make me coffee. You know how

I get weak when you speak my

language of love. It’s still a cloud

in my heart. It could be grey one

day, blue another, white, moving

silently and then you crack the mirror.

I’m out of my skin, I’m shedding

a new layer of your anger.

so I have to drag myself out of the earth

and walk on planks.

You want me

to love you and I do. In the way

I should not. I know better by now

but the clouds never leave, they hover

and expect me to be my best self.

I’m writing and spinning out of control

over hatred, you’re making me tired.

Let’s stay naked in bed

create our own clouds

dissipate the anger with our skin.

Even fantasy has holes

we refuse to mend.

Across the Street

It is funny how you wake up from a dream

when you do not want to

and that fucking alarm

has the worst timing.

Look Aysha said, he’s across

the street. I squinted, I let

the rain wet my hair. He has 

a message for you. But he’s dead.

No he isn’t. He’s right there.

Then I saw him. He stared at me

with his familiar clothes and

cute cap and his unforgettable look.

I waited for his thoughts to enter mine

like in that stupid move, In Your Eyes,

but nothing. Now I have to guess,

ponder all day what he meant

to say. His constant beyond the grave

obscure meanings, quotes,

sayings, life affirming opera

selections.

I have so many estimations

but all lead to the bridge

I almost crashed into

last night in the snowstorm.

I got nothing.

I see everything.

He did not want to cross

so that tells me

what my heart

knows to be true.

Do you ever see the dead

and wonder why you?

Do you ever light the candles

and watch them flicker?

Do you ever question

artistry and love?

It’s only my right breast

that needs

love

the rest of me

is doing just fine

with snow tires

and edits

poetic lyrics

to get me by

but when you told me

about your mom

my insides were ripped apart

for your pain.

I feel the heartache

and shock

I end up reliving mine

and even if you are

tired of reading me

I will never stop.