Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

i’m sorry for the blood on my knuckles
for the split in my lip
for the bruise that purples greens yellows
i’d break every bone for you
your voice echoes in every beat –
of this too young, too old heart.

Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

when you tell me that –
that everything was imagined
that the last two years
were two years of dreams
and the held breath of hope
was really the suffocation
of a crushed situation
and then you say
because you’re not being ‘patronising’
that it’s my fault
that i should never have looked at you
as someone i could have loved
that i should never have taken the time
to try to get to know you
and that the time i took
didn’t really count on the clock anyway
i wonder how much harder i could have tried
and if you’d have ever been satisfied
and i wonder why i feel like i did something wrong
and why i feel like my heart is breaking
when every thought was for you
i wrote you a thousand lines
each of them a message in a bottle
i’d hoped you’d find
because you told me you liked me too
so i guess i believed you
more fool me, easy to deceive
and once again i am a zero sum
and i wonder how many more times
i can do this before
alone seems like the better option.

 

(author’s note: i’m not doing so well right now. coming out of a two year… what i thought was quite a serious thing and being told i’m the reason it could never have been serious, it’s hard. because the poetry anthology ‘turn soft & lovely’ was written almost entirely about the person, i need to sell them off and get them out of my sight, so they’re reduced to clear on my etsy. thanks for reading.)