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 you

---

things 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