Monday, April 11, 2011

splitting molecules

Yes, I know I will be fine. Yes, I know it gets better with time. Yes, I know I can be strong blah blah; I don't need someone else to be happy blah; it was probably for the best blah vomit blah; and I'm gradually moving on with my life blah blah facedesk, but the truth remains: Getting dumped by someone you love fucking sucks, and I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't.

Three years later,
you fit in a box.
I taped you shut
while I wait
for a blanket to become
just a blanket again,
or a necklace
just a necklace.

For now these
cold metal
paper postcard
hard plastic
combing through my hair
with the rigid fingers
of ghosts.

I’ve been trimmed away like fat,
but you’re still in the
water I drink.

1 comment:

wiredwriter said...

I love this post, love the honesty. The poem is fucking fantastic. I hope you keep writing. Mine's seemingly the strongest when I'm not doing not so well.

my verif word is puckera