The Ocean’s Goodbye

They told me you died in the ocean,
your face distorted by the waves,
and the fluids filled the empty spaces in your lungs.
They told me your head hit rock bottom,
and the saltwater was the last thing you wanted to see.
They told me you died with a smile,
your limbs no longer trying to remember how to feel,
slowly numbed by the tides,
as the kiss of the moonlight sang you to sleep.
They told me you died in the ocean,
while learning how to be loved
by the very thing killing you.

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Untitled

I hold your name on the end of my tongue,
its promises choked back with each letter,
dripping slowly from my grasp,
and I want it to be heard
past this burning in my throat
that refuses to let me inhale beyond the fog.

 

 

*Untitled is the title*

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Saying Goodbye Is Never Easy

I told him not to turn back
so he carried around a mirror
and loved from a distance.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Taken

I remember the way you broke me.
Slowly,
like a carpenter
testing all his shiny new tools.
You chipped away at my body
until it crumbled under your touch.
You picked away at my mind
until it flaked and fluttered from my head
into a pile of rubble
for you to rummage through.
You stole my remains,
because all that I offered
just wasn’t enough
for the man that had everything.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

I Thought Wrong

I thought I fell in love with a gentleman
on the night we sat so close, our shoulders
kissed, and my hands did not know where
to rest.

When he stilled the wind with my breath
as he brought my fiddling fingers to his
lips and told me I looked beautiful in the
moonlight.

I thought it was a compliment. To be
beautiful in the spotlight with the stars’
light show. I did not yet know that he
meant I looked beautiful after dark.

When the sun hid under blankets and
took my details with it. I was no longer
flawed if he could not see them.

I thought I fell in love with a gentleman,
but he was only using his mouth as a way
to keep me interested until he did not have
to see me to love me, and could instead lie
to everything he was blind to.

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Flicker

The wind howled
and the storms blew in,
lightening striked the hearts
of the traveler’s weary bodies.
They huddled for warmth
against the cloud’s bullets,
thankful for the glow
from the neighbor’s windows.
The skies exploded,
growled through the city,
and stole the electricity
welding them together.

 

At least when the power goes out,
it is eventually restored.

 

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Three Floors Down

My heart entered the broken
elevator, and dropped into my
stomach after the doors opened
from your goodbye on the button.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

It’s Not Them, It’s Me

I’m beginning to think it’s me,
my anxious way of thinking,
and overbearing mentality.

Surely it can’t be them,
their sweet-tongued syllables,
and gentle minds.

Their inner beauty reflected
in the carefully sculpted details
that display their enticing features.

I’m beginning to think it’s me,
unable to be handled
without protected mental strength
and delicate hands.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Departure

I’m not ready to catch a train,
but I wonder
if I should start preparing
for your departure.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Your Poem

I have finally crawled out of the shadows
from under the bed to write you the poem.
You do not deserve my words.
You do not deserve my hurt.
But this,
this is your poem.
You are that stray Lego throwing yourself
on the carpet to cause me pain,
begging me to hurt myself,
so you did not have to take the blame.
You are a first draft.
And if I need to explain the horrors in that statement,
you are a writer
that doesn’t know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’
You are the opposite of poetry.
You are a kindergarten art project.
Everybody wants to spare someone so small,
so they lie,
“Looks great honey.”
I’m dragging my way out of the crawl space,
putting myself in the open,
to write you a poem you won’t even read,
but will try to find the spark notes for.
You are the worst kind of person.
Making me feel stupid for my excitement,
making my feelings seem unjustified,
making my emotions yours.
You always wanted a poem about you,
so here it is.
You are everything I now know to stay away from.
You are my warning signs.

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Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!