It is the oldest cliché in the book,
for me to say that I’m not quite sure who I am.
I think I used to know
and then you happened. that isn’t fair.
I know, to blame you for such a loss.
But that’s the way the timeline has been stitched.
there is before you
and there is after you
and that’s enough evidence for me.
Time passed me by so quickly,
And I have nearly nothing to show for it.
I could blame you of course, for giving me
Reason to believe that my waiting would be rewarded
Or that you even wanted me to hold onto you in the first place.
but the only one I blame is myself, and maybe that’s what makes this so bad.
If you want to know if I’m okay,
notice my nails. It’s unlikely you care,
but that night in the park my nails were beautiful,
and grown, and a seductive shade of pink. My pride and joy,
a literal representation of the growth that can happen when I’m
permitted to breath.
Now, oh god, now they are bitten, and crooked, and cracked, and
bleeding. The nails of a girl who spends the night sick with the fear that love won’t find
her. The nails of a girl who lives without you.
Love is not hickies marking paths down your body,
Love is not a blanket on the grass in the middle of a park.
Love is not mistaken kisses with his best friend.
Love is not lace underwear slipping to your ankles,
or lips at the edge of your bra and down your stomach, or hands in your hair.
Love isn’t even hands finding their way beneath denim and lace,
and Love definitely isn’t the silence I’m met with after giving myself to you.
Dizzily she stood,
talking in her head
to someone who didn’t exist
outside the confines of a disaster,
where second hand hurt
unravels around her.
Hands that aren’t hers hold tight to a plan
her body is lost,
taken by a man with an inflated idea of
the things he can take.
I pull silk from between my thighs,
painfully replaying the female experience.
Every cry and shout heard plainly on my chest.
All the while, on the cliffs of my hips,
A woman swings her legs over the edge
dangles her future and flirts with trouble.
I want to pull her back from the edge,
To tell her not to bet away what’s been given to her.
Legs still swinging she whispers out to an endless valley,
“This is necessary”.
I love you, but I have yet to decide
if that is something you need to know