I wanted to
write
in biting
verse
Asking about
your party
and my friends
in attendance
I’d make some
metaphor about
Independence Day
I wanted to
lash out
and ask
how the space
felt as you
hosted.
I’m still angry -
I’m still grateful.
I’m not going
to maneuver my
schedule around
your’s, anymore.
And I won’t
reach for you
in drunken texts
or in venomous
poems.
In the end
all it is
is missing you
and us
and the summer
before
And if I can’t
let go
I hope you can.
I hope you find
better
I hope it’s
more than
fireworks.
Oh,
didn’t I tell you?
I repel
the explosions
and the smoke
Sometimes
I hate them.
The empty sky
and hidden stars
once the show
ends.
But you’re
not them
and you’re
no performance
You’re sun
in February
and lightning
in June.
You are joy.
“How was your party?”
I’ll ask, pointedly.
“Did you see fireworks?”
And if you ask if I
saw them, too,
I’ll nod and smile
in the same
restrained way
you smile at me, now.
“Sure, I saw them,”
knowing damn well
I didn’t even look.
Tag: joy
Full
Kisses fall to my forehead to the crevice of my neck "What are you doing?" I ask, laughing, holding his face between my hands. "I don't want you to run out." He kisses my forehead, again. "Then I need 10 more." He takes my face in his hands. "There," he responds, looking satisfied., "I gave you 12."
Request
You, sitting there
in my room
full of fleeting
Autumn sunlight
I wanted nothing more
than permanence.
“How about we
spend the day
just laying here
looking at each other?”
You laughed
as if my question
was comical
As if it was
possible
for me to want
anything
beyond life
in your eyes.
In joy
What
is joy
compared to
a lasting
ache
In joy
I lack the
preoccupation
the restless attachment
the wondering if
my feelings are matched
or returned at all
In joy
all I have
is the way
you leaned in to kiss me
The memory of standing
in the stairwell
you held my gaze
you held me
to share you’re not
seeing anyone else
All I have
are the hands
that didn’t let go of mine
from that first kiss
in the middle of your kitchen
I’m not sure how to write
in joy
But I can try.
Reflection
She says to me,
“You get to figure this all out.
What a beautiful
challenge to overcome.”
She suggests I look
not to the trauma
or the pain
but the fear.
Fear of being left.
Fear of being seen.
“You look through lenses
scratched and clouded.
You feel through fear.
Until you know your ground,
until you know
what you want
and expect nothing less,
you’ll continue to question.
You’ll continue to feel doubt.”
I look to her
tears decades old
decorate my face.
“So what now?”
She looks at me with
a knowing smile.
“You already know.”
The Restless Crescent 