Tag: break up

moon slip–poem

how silly my moon slip
into down     my lips
pocus wrap in yours
and I’m sorry about
celestial ache and howl
and how are you
getting down from here?
will you climb cloud
humid spilling? crawl?
beg the ailing air
to backbend into ladder
place your foot in the
spinal gnocchi rung
stumble out of this skin

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life is crazy. my apologies for the sabbatical. 

Poem that isn’t about Corn

One summer we grew corn. Cutting into the Virginia clay-sand soil. (My mother always cursed the dirt. Spoiled fertility.) I knifed three rows, ripping and clawing at clods of grass. Thick with sweat, slick skin slipping their grip on the yard tool just as suitable to cleave open his skull at the temple. That thought didn’t occur as the lower lumbar ache spread like a pandemic—flushing my muscles in a race of infection. Maybe somewhere deeper—nestled in a bed of arteries, feeding off fresh bleeding—it was growing. He was breeding me for domesticity. I loved those little pink seeds. I held them in my sticky palm. They looked like rock candy. I imagined sinking my teeth into the tawny flesh of that fruit. The hours, the labor, the loved poured over that fruit—the ache of that love would be tangible. I would sink my teeth into that flesh and sever it for good. but We let it die. Let it rot tall in its stalks. A mockery of that ache.

 

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First draft. Very in the works.

Poem

 

Sometimes I feel allergic to his touch,
like when he grips my hips when we’re
twisted in sheets.. that his fingers
will slip to my throat to hold
until I choke. There’s something about
that first man. Oh men. I’m a recovering
addict. My model of love is barbed
wire wrapped tight around
a crumbling orchid, a rose
shoved through the holes of brass
knuckles. I am ripped petals bleeding
pollen, a broken womb. He’s trying
to repair these lips but I’m not
having any of it. I’m just buying time
to run away
and taking every inch of his skin
while I can.

 

Stumps

 
He didn’t even try to save me.
He cut a gash in my life boat,
pulled the string that strung
together my wooden raft,
amputated my legs that kicked
my body closer to air. &He
drank the blood that drained
from my stumps, then mocked me
for being unable to swim.
&Waited for me to get over it.
He’s still waiting somewhere.

 

these seem a little more raw and less “wordy” or language laden than usual. fascinating. ]

Rêve de Fleurs

 
When I lay my body down to rest
flowers will reach out the sockets
of my eyes, wrap tendrils around
my cheekbones, and suck the breath
from my throat.
In my dreams I still sleep neck deep
in someone else’s hate, drinking
his self-loathing, cloaked in the silt
of his misery. He should have but
he never could have saved it.
He rots in my memories, feeding
the flowers that suffocate me
in my sleep.

 

Goodbye (day eight)

Goodbye to you,
goodbye to the black ash
you left around my eyes,
to drowning drunk nights
so far from sober
I couldn’t dream of crying.
No more begging
your memory to rise
with the curl of grey smoke,
every limb of yours flushed
in the plume of ceremonial
flames. Only to fall back
down with the black ash,
to stain my skin
and seep into the dirt.
That’s why I didn’t
burn you. I let you
fester, let you
let my memory fester
in your gut–rotting,
edging away at the softest
part of you, an ever
crumbling debasement
of character. Words that torment
the brightest vibrancy
of laughter–let your lips
demoralize someone else.
She drove your things away today
and I feel better.

write a valediction (a goodbye). I’m still one poem behind. I’ll catch up, promises! &thank you my loves for 50+ followers and 200+ likes!! ]

It Goes On

photo (8)

Life has been just nutty these past few months. The last time I shared a bit about my personal life I was still fractured from the break up, very confused and still timid.

Since then, an old friend and I have sparked a highly charged romance. We’re crazy about each other and he’s home for good in just two weeks. It was completely unexpected because this guy exited my life for nearly half a decade. Then he shows up at my door a few days before Christmas. We have drinks. We have dinner. Bam! We’re inseparable.

He’s in the Army though (that is, for two more weeks!), so he had to leave two weeks after we hit it off. I visited him in Nashville for his birthday in mid February. He visited me last weekend. I was prepared to wait until mid May, when he was supposed to be discharged… but he’s coming home early! I received this news today and I am a happy kid.

Other news I am incredibly and speechlessly happy about?

I got accepted into the University of Balitmore’s MFA program for Creative Writing and Publishing Arts. &I am finally going to go do what I have always dreamed of doing. I got the acceptance email exactly one week ago. I spent two months on the portfolio, right around the time I started seeing Matt.

I’ve always been incredibly insecure about my writing, as well the actual act of writing. I’m not sure why. It’s such a competitive field. That’s what I kept telling Matt when he told me not to be nervous and not to even worry. He didn’t even have a clear concept at first of what the program was or what type of writing I was working on. For someone that has been a very close friend of mine for ten years, he had absolutely no clue that I “write creatively.”

I sent him one of the poems I posted on here—one of the angry break up ones. Ah, it was the one I wrote in the chair of the bookstore before I actually broke up with my ex. I edited it for the portfolio and ended up texting it to him (FYI, that was a bitch). I was tempted to send him the one I’d written about him but decided nah.. that can wait.

He was so confident that I’d get accepted and kept telling me to have some faith in myself. I assured him I had some, otherwise I wouldn’t apply at all. I didn’t want to build up an expectation just to be let down though. They notified me only two weeks after I applied. Crazy. Matt was even in town when I found out. He was so proud of me. &I’m proud of me too!

Go me.

It’s terrifying though, absolutely terrifying. I am terrified.

but I’ve read, if the risks you take aren’t terrifying, you’re doing it wrong. so I really and truly believe that I’m finally doing it right. I’m going to have to quit my job, move out, find my own place, get another job. I get to live in the city, something I’ve always wanted… but I always resigned to living in this small shit town and pretending like I was okay with it… it wasn’t meant to be… I’m meant for small city life and teaching high school English.

VOMIT. No. That’s not for me. I want to study creative writing and get into the publishing industry and live on my own in a city. SWEET JESUS I AM HAPPY.

Sometimes I can’t even believe I had enough courage to break it off with my ex. Sometimes I’m driving in my car, windows cracked, seat warmer on, bad 90s music blasting and I can’t even believe that I’m single… much less setting up a future of my own. I never would have applied for an MFA program with my ex. I never would have moved out of my parent’s house. I didn’t even write, not unless the conditions of being with him made me so desperate and depressed I wrote to keep from my slitting my skin open.

Yeah, harsh. I wish he died from his brain aneurysm.

He called me last week. I was actually at a bar with Matt, drinking and getting annoyed at him. I left my phone at the hotel and saw I had a voicemail while Matt was in the bathroom. I just started crying after listening to it and immediately deleting it. He walked out and I just fell into him and he naturally held me. I guess he thought he’d really upset me that badly because I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t know how to tell him why I was upset. I’m not used to being able to tell a guy why I’m upset without some sort of accusation or embarrassment or being made to feel guilty for being upset. I didn’t want to seem melodramatic or ridiculous. I didn’t want him to get mad or upset because that’s the reaction I’m used to (that seems so ridiculous now that I see it in words. Goddamn my ex is a fucking jackass.)

I told him the only way I knew how… all whimpery and pathetic and blunt and to-the-point. &He did what boyfriends are supposed to do—hold you, kiss your head, wipe your out of your face, tell you that’s all in the past, try not to let it upset you, but it’s okay to be upset. &I still just can’t believe this guy’s timing. Every time I have absolutely needed him, he’s been there… even though he lives eleven hours away. Every Time.

He says he’s just lucky. I’m lucky.

&I quote Robert Frost,

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

That quote is just everything to me. It goes on and shit just fixes itself if you have the strength the endure the hardships. I sacrificed everything I knew four months ago and let my life fall apart completely… but life went on. It gets better. It goes on.