“Just don’t touch him”
He leaves eventually,
uncomfortable by my presence
and I beg my lungs to burst,
polite as one could be,
but they don’t.
Never do, these fuckers.
Where did we go wrong?
Come back, talk to me.
Please.
I was told love was pure.
Love was kisses on the cheek,
hugs from behind when you didn’t expect them.
Love was not locking the door,
just if love wanted to see you.
Love was caring,
when no one else was.
Love was all there was sometimes.
Love was forgetting your friends,
but making sure your love was smiling.
Love was dreams sometimes,
waking up to the truth;
it didn’t exist anymore.
Love was not going to bed,
because you’re sickly in love with seeing their face every night.
Love was pure pain sometimes.
Like a manic, like a clown
I was running for life all through town.
What the chaser did not know,
slithering throat here now is my fun.
Now he’s leaping, not worth keeping,
shame he messed ’round with someone like me.
And he’s screaming, he is crying
did he actually think I was lying?
Now he’s dead, no more dread,
let’s go running through town all again.
The world’s
greatest
sinner
was I
and I ought to say I
enjoyed it.
I loved you today.
Your hair was a mess
and your eyes were unfocused
and you pulled me closer.
I loved you yesterday.
Your hair was flatter
at least to some extent.
I talked too much
you didn’t talk at all,
and you didn’t answer the door
when I came to my senses.
I will love you tomorrow.
You don’t think about your hair
the way I do.
And you will be angry
and happy.
Pull me close
just to push me away.
But I will love you.
I wanted to tell you
that you weren’t alone,
and that it would get better.
All those things
you’re supposed to say
at three in the morning
when nothing is right.
But I poured you another drink instead.
Somehow you seemed more grateful.
Your lies are
ugly, worn-out,
pieces of paper
I use to sort out
my clustered head.
Would you
tell me one more?
But I never did know
if you were for me
or for everyone else.
Just as I am.
What if we didn’t love the wrong people during the holidays?
What if we let people in, instead of shutting them out?
What if we realized how messed up the world is? Even at this very moment?
Would our fridge still be full of food we are not going to finish?
Would you tell me that it didn’t matter?
Would you tell me that everything is going to be alright?
Would you believe it?
What if you asked a stranger “how are you?”?
What if they told you they weren’t alright?
What if you asked a friend?
What if they told you they are alright, but you know better?
What if you asked me?
What if, even with a cross around my neck, I told you I’m not?
Little Pocket Journal 