You never understood

You lit up the room like I never could

But I could walk behind you

And pretend I had a glow of my own

What I had to say

Never phased you one way

Or another

And I tried so hard not to act like a mother

But all I wanted to do was take the syringe from your arm,

Empty its chamber,

And reload it with fragments of a shattered mirror

So you could inject your veins

And remember the feeling of feeling

And see the reflections of your soul

Focus on your insides

Instead of trying to bleed them out

I’d throw pencils at you

In exchange for your serrated edge

I’d yell bleed on the page,

And use the razorblade you call a tongue

That you love to jab at me in double-edged jest,

But you forgot the name of your own sense of humor

You refer to yourself way too often as a loser

But here I am

Running

Trying to stay one step ahead of your bipolar outbursts,

Running with the mirror from your closet

To shove it in your face and say “it’s the mirror that’s broken,

Not you”

But you have selective sight

You only see your flaws and

You never see my fight

For you to understand.

Photo of me performing this poem at Final Friday moments after writing it!

Satin Sheets

You lie naked

On satin sheets of confidence.

Your soul exposed, covered with rising chill bumps

Because we’re still waiting for the heater to kick on.

But by the time it does,

We are too entrapt in the subconscious contest

Of matching each other’s breath

In in-between states of sex and sleep

To notice.

Besides there is never a moment without heat

Between your sheets

Even if your windows draft

The sudden chills just make us laugh

Because shivers

Just heighten sensations on the skin.

The radio on the nightstand sings us songs of

Lovers loving

Lovers fighting

Lovers leaving

Lovers redeeming

And all we can think of

Is the day time dreaming

We are seeming to live

In between bouts and shouts

And declarations of “I love you”…

Because we do.

We always feared saying it aloud

Because we were sure we’d never mean it

And we’d never had believed this

Till we’d seen it.

But here it is:

The present,

A gift for our inner child

More as a consolation for all the wrongs we’ve done to them.

I’m sorry I forgot to forgive

I’m sorry I forgot to believe

I’m sorry I forgot to love

I’m sorry I forgot you.

….Is what we’d say if we spoke ‘purity’

You rise from bed

With a content smile

And a messy head

Walking toward the closet

You pause, it seems

As if you are expecting me

To dress you

In redemption

Clothe you

In forgiveness

For all the stupid things

We’ve both done.

Try, I should.

I know.

Know I’d paint you

With perfection

If I could

But the surface below

The skin can’t be soothed

With clothes

Or caresses

The touches and tresses just end up feeling used.

You stand there

Equal distance from me

And the closet door

Looking at me

As if asking

Can she clothe me in purity?

I look back at you

As if asking

Can he save me from myself?

You answer both our questions

The satin sheets were calling

But you left, to dress yourself.