Six years is a long time when you’re only 43. I met you in my prime and now my hair is coming in white. That’s probably your fault. I can blame a lot of my pain on you, but nevertheless, I made choices, too. The argument that someone needs to take blame at all is null. Blame is my favorite game to play, and I almost always win, no matter which side I’m on. Here it is plain and simple: I love you. But I am not sure whether I’m in love with you anymore. 

Today’s poetry prompt words were: … Read the rest

When you leave we don’t say goodbye anymore. I don’t pause to put down my coffee and stand to get one last hug and kiss from you, I don’t tell you I love you, I don’t walk you to the door so I can shut it quietly behind you. Later, I’m cold as ice and turn my head from you, I don’t want to look at you, especially as we decorate the tree with things you dragged from the basement without me asking. This was going to be our first real Christmas in our home, and now it’s going to … Read the rest

I almost got what I wanted could be the story of my life. A Mitsubishi Eclipse in 2001. A job that would have had me moving to New Orleans in 2003. An abortion in 2005. A lifetime with you. We were at the edge of forever, dancing around it like we do in the kitchen now, orbiting each other so we never touch. Every time you make a dinner I don’t deserve, I walk in there with hunger and walk out feeling like I left my heart behind. 

Today’s poetry prompt words were: I almost got what I wanted, at … Read the rest

Today, I’m sorry that any of this happened
and if I could, I would take it back
by any means necessary to save my
heart from breaking over you again. 

Hearts are supposed to be these strong,
red, hot, beating to keep the body alive
organs, and not what I feel I have in the
middle of my chest, just this melting piece of ice. 

Today’s poetry prompt words were: I’m sorry, by any means necessary, and ice.

_{Photo by Liana S on Unsplash}

43 turns around the sun and I still can’t find myself in the placement of things. We’re all spinning on this same rock, we’re all headed in the same direction straight toward the end. Why should I even care? What difference do I make at all, impossibly small in this universe, and more specifically, in yours? All I get from you are mixed signals and stop signs. This train is derailing, and I just want to find my way home.

Today’s poetry prompt words were: placement, impossibly small, and stop signs.

_{Photo by NASA Hubble Space Telescope on Unsplash}