I’m going to take my name
off the list of the ones waiting
for their person.
I’ve found mine.
The hunt has come to an end,
because this one makes me feel
like a baby bird under a wing,
like the air we need to breathe.
No wonder he leaves me
breathless and tongue-tied.
When he holds me,
all I want in the world is him.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: list, the hunt, and tongue-tied.
Photo by Igor Rodrigues on Unsplash
This isn’t a time out,
this is an end,
and I know now
it’s coming, soon.
We don’t need a
critical analysis or
more digging down
into our psyches to know
that we’ve gone
as far as we can go.
It’s not as easy as
sweeping the past
under a rug and hoping
to forget the mess.
What’s left here will linger.
What’s left here will poke
at my tortured heart
long, long after you’re gone.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: time out, critical analysis, and sweeping.
Photo by Joseph Sharp on Unsplash
I really thought we would last this time, last like the smooth rocks in rivers we’ve camped by, last like they have for ages, just letting the water pass around them. We’re more like cats in traffic, terrified and dodging anything that moves, because any movement is a terror. Any pulling or putting away. This is a terror, every moment. I know nothing is as scary as waiting for you to leave. I don’t want you to go, but you won’t choose me, so you can’t stay. You’ll go like you came, and maybe we’ll end like we began, first … Read the rest
I’ve always wanted to see
the skies of Montana, or even
Wyoming, wherever that is;
can I find it on a map?
I’ll check the forecast,
pack up my medicine and
toothbrush and clothes,
and I’ll just fucking go.
Set out on the highway
With “head west” being
the only thing I know,
a road that may or may not
be lonely, and my cat,
she comes, too.
I’m going to die
if I don’t get away from you.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: Wyoming, forecast, and medicine.
Photo by Neil Wallace on Unsplash
I can’t take this anymore
I’ve said hundreds of times
but now I really mean it.
I can’t take it,
not a minute longer.
We’ve lived a life of
make-believe and never
stopped playing games.
Dress-up, house, pretend.
It really has to end.
I’ve been dancing
around the edges of
my escape route and
now I’m running toward it.
I want to be free
as fast as I can be.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: not a minute longer, make-believe, and dancing.
Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash
Decades ago,
it’s been decades now,
you and I shared space
in the same place
at the same time
and the fact that
was even possible
feels like magic.
Now all I have are
memories and imaginations,
like the lump of my belly
growing with our baby
and the house we
would have bought together,
the home we would
have made forever.
Remember marching
up the sand dunes to see
the most beautiful sunset
of our entire lives?
Do you remember dancing
at Limelight, utterly high with the
flashing lights and pulsing music,
our sweaty bodies sliding
against each other … Read the rest
I wanted to be a part of your family at the Fourth of July picnic that’s crazy like a circus, at your sister’s table on holidays, by your side on Christmas morning. I had dreams of all of these things in my life, and now I look past tomorrow and see nothing but darkness. I’m spaced out in shock, still not wanting to accept it’s over, regarding re-entry into real life as an assault, because how do I live without you? How I go days without talking to you? I won’t be going to your niece’s wedding next year. I … Read the rest
I was once told that when you love someone, to you, they’re the most beautiful thing in the world. That gave me hope, and now it will give me comfort the first time I take my clothes off in front of a new man. Not that I really think or expect any new man to love me, but I still need to get laid either way. So for now I am not a beautiful or loved thing. All the love I ever had can be spoken now in past tense. The present is talking freedom and second, third, and millionth … Read the rest
You are not special. You think I made you my world, but my world is built with words and dreams, and I’m not dreaming about you anymore. Surely this was to be expected after years of swimming in your toxic waters; there should be no surprise. I dreamt you had the face of an angel, the ass of David, and a heart soft enough to feel safe inside. But these dreams turned out to be wishes, there is a difference, and either way, they never come true.
Today’s poetry prompt words were: not what anyone expected, swimming, and David… Read the rest
