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.

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.

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.