You always take care of the dirty dishes. Always. I can’t remember the last time my hands slid in slimy, sudsy soap water. You always take the trash out. You always bring things down to the storage space so I don’t have to go down the scary stairs full of cobwebs. We were so close to making it, but not close enough. I’ll never know what glue I was missing that could have kept you here, but I think I was the one lacking, and I will blame myself for everything until my last breath. I’m taking the jump from … Read the rest

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}