i keep getting the numbers wrong
five steps in
ten steps back
is cracking at the weight of expectations
maybe i should let this run its course
deeper than dolphin water
i am breaking an entering
shielded gray and you don’t have the please of perhaps.
do you know what i’ve sacrificed to be here?
but maybe it’s nothing
maybe you’re history in the making
and i should let you
write yourself out
while i write myself in
defeated and weary
love means nothing but now after all.
sweet things aren’t just sweet things
another one is, yes, one more
little morning affections keep me
awake at night
and my legs hurt
someone, after this much walking
will want to whisper something sweet too.
don’t forget the arms that hold you
are the same that have taken
men and women down on their bellies.
lighters and drinks are all
in good graces
but i can walk away
with more than blood on my hands.
think of that
next time you try to rope me in
“And to this day, the sun has never said to the Earth, You owe me.”
but what if i’m the moon –
would you still trace your fingers
around my craters and find them
or is the space between your nerves around
perhaps im not comfortable.
maybe my arms are too heavy
and my grip too strong.
maybe my elbows are too sharp
maybe i have too much too many things.
too many people
i’m to resentful too young too naive.
hollow victories and wounds re-opened
the need to polish trophies
just to rub it in the rags’ face.
where has temperance gone?
eating krill and lackluster for shine’s sake
allowing time to disregard many times
can you move in tandem with your greed?
if you had the chance, would you
tell the world to eat your shame?
or would you weigh your shoulders with pretend
there’s a limp in your step
there’s a creek in my neck don’t worry
we’re all slightly crooked
watching tides rise and fall
our intentions curling into
wave me hello
you’re name sighs out of my mouth
clenching my jaw
grinding my teeth
there’s a gap tooth
for your breath me out.
you’re crossing borders
but i’ve built a wall higher than your spine
across my bed
obedience to lust
or perhaps nature.
perhaps we’ll stop watching each other someday
from across the room
patient and petulant
until then, your name does not matter
i will MAKE you nothing
no one of importance
fools gold to a greedy hand
no muse to any man
just another category.
The fucking nerve
Maybe there’s a cynicism to heartbreak
Maybe this is where the balance tips the scale.
These arms that held me so warmly
I’m aching to break free –
Back to her, back the them,
Back anywhere, really.
And you’ve done a poor job,
At setting expectations.
Disappointment is the least patient of my furies.
And dearest, she’s already growing away from you.