Another day is fading away and soon you won’t be here anymore. Your presence here has an expiration date, even though I don’t know what it is, or how I’ll get through it. You’re going to go, so I need to grow. I need to remember that I have wings too, and leaving the nest isn’t necessarily not an option. What a wonder it would be if I could get by without you, without my pills, without my therapist. What a wonder it will be if I do. 

Today’s poetry prompt words were: expiration date, leaving the nest, and pills. … Read the rest

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

It’s Christmas Eve.
I wish more than ever
that this wasn’t happening.

I wish we could have lived
a life together from the start,
like you had with her,
like I’ll never have
with anyone.

I wish you were like your dad
who kept walking past your mom
to see her through a window while
she worked, and he wouldn’t
give up on her, he’d never give up.

Our love, if you could call it that,
went up and down like the
elevators your father worked on.

You said elevators can’t really crash
like they do in the movies, but… Read the rest

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