I am moving on at my own right pace
Or at least that’s the mantra I tell myself every morning
Bottomless coffee You stingy lover You bad tipper You tight-fisted amante The regular with shallow pockets First name familiarity, deep talks about the weather As you nickel and dime me for affection I set breakfast in front of you and squeeze my beating heart into your orange juice I would have given you my children You pay the bill and leave Not a cent over Or a second extra Forever halfway out the door Only to come back tomorrow You always get hungry in the mornings
Eulogy I turn off the world and put on the playlist you made me Of songs that remind you of us And I still don’t know why Elton John is on there Or what I’m doing listening to this music When you can’t be bothered texting back Or meeting for a coffee that was your idea Except that it’s not you I’m saying goodbye to It’s my own service I’m attending As I mourn The me who cared Tears for the kids who won’t have your eyes Or our hyphenated last names A few words for the past and the future That no longer exist Lilies for the me who jumped in and paddled like hell To rescue someone who didn’t mind drowning Eternal peace for the girl who held her breath Until she ran out of air Who tried too hard And gripped too tight And gave her more-than-everything It was only after she stopped breathing that she could finally let go
Closure “So I was thinking,” I tell my best friend, “I invite him for a coffee and then just sit across the table and yell at him. Could be nice closure.” She looks at me “Yeah, or not,” I say, “It’d probably feel good though.” Not sure why I’m surprised That after everything Everything I now have to go and give myself my own closure as well Checks out In my next life I’d like to be the one who hasn’t heard of therapy
instant gratification
let the record show that if I had a million lifetimes
I wouldn’t ever go back
but if I there was just this one
and the world was ending
and there was no tomorrow
zero repercussions
sloppy indulgence only
with noone watching
I might be tempted
to crawl into bed
and lie on your delectable chest
one more time
listening to you tell me
I’m the best thing you have
for just a minute, or five, or thirty
before returning to reality
and to the guy I’m dating now
who has nicer eyes than youthings are still pretty new but he plays with my hair as he waits with me for a bus that’s taking uncomfortably long to arrive he gathers it in both hands and lifts the weight off my head smoothing it down like I’m some sort of doll nobody’s done that to me since I was five when my mom would ease the lulls in Sunday conversations by taking my hair in her hands and making a nice comment to the church ladies I pretend to watch for the bus so he can’t see my eyes or how calm he’s making me as he holds the weight of this year last year the years I try to think of things to say to fill the silence the way the church ladies taught me but I have nothing so I stand there and worry he’s getting bored I try not to let him know how good it feels to have him wait for a bus he isn’t even catching stop it, I whisper to my accordion heart we don’t know him yet but it’s too late opening up is what it does best



Waiting for the entire book of poetry........
you are my favorite writer on substack!!!