We said it so many times we called it 10%, because it felt like “I love you” was 10% of all we say to each other. Every day, I love you, I love you, I love you, a balm I’ll never grow tired of but, underneath it all, became a noose around your neck. We’ll stick to easy games; no tag, no red rover, no hopscotch, nothing that involves touching or thinking about you. Finger painting, maybe, that’s an activity we can do together now that cuddling and sex are off the table. My best friend has a sex painting. … Read the rest

I should have said goodbye years ago, the first time you wanted to, the second time, the tenth. But I wasn’t the only one saying let’s give it one more chance, I wasn’t the only one holding on. I wake up tired every morning, crying alone in bed, looking at the space you took up and picturing you there welcoming me into your waiting arms. I cry because I am starved for touch. I cry because of you. The line between me handling it and having a breakdown is paper thin. I’ve been holding myself together with scotch tape … 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

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