Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing, poetry, Short Fiction

#15

My new therapist is an ex-tv producer
who used to hold business meetings with reality show directors
and actors, and marketing geniuses
only to curl herself in the washroom and cry.

She would take walks,
a cup of coffee in each trembling hand,
just to get away.

She doesn’t mean to tell me this,
she always asks, “What about you?”
But I’m an expert at misdirection,
this is how I know

how my other therapist loved musicals,
but her husband hated it, so she went alone,
how she pored over two volumes of Persepolis in one night,
because it reminder her of me,
how she fretted over which rug to put in her new office,
how she felt overwhelmed by having a new office,
how she thought the panhandler outside sang too loud
and disturbed her clients,
how she thought the retirement home she brought her mom to
was sad,
how she killed herself shortly after
we stopped seeing each other.

Both of them said I’m always on time with payment.
I don’t want you to listen to me for nothing.

She loves asking me ,”Why,”
And I want her to know,
That it’s not the external that matters –
not the job you can’t have, not the money you don’t have,
not the relationships that broke you.

That’s the easy part.

It’s the living with yourself.
It’s the waking up in the morning and forcing,
with all of your strength,
to get out of bed,
to sludge on to the tasteless coffee,
to slither inside clothes you know doesn’t define you,
to look at the person in the mirror you no longer recognize,
the growing older, the years wasted
trading your soul for the practicality of adulthood,
if you work too much, you get too sick,
if you play too much, you go insane.

In this routine, interpersonal world of
commutes, and plastering smiles while out for drinks with friends,
and sideways glances that tell of wishing I am not here,
it’s the mind, my dear,

it’s the dead, unbeating heart that
performs the final act,
that delivers us to the gods.

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Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing, poetry

#14

I will wait for you, darling
For the crinkle on the sides of your eyes to rise
along with those cheeks and lips
smiling at me,

as if there was still hope
left in our world.

Until then I am all verb, no adjective
passing through time
counting down to the second
until you let me in

again.

I will wait for you, love,
give you the space and distance
the size of a galaxy
that you need,

if it’s my non-existence you want,
you’ve got it babe,
I’ll stop existing for you

what I’ll do for you is limitless,
there are no absolutes in this heart of mine
if forever is what you want,
I’ll give it –

I will wait for you,
even if it doesn’t end,
even if I am forever pounding clenched fists
against an unbreakable wall,
this is my sacrifice,
my overall meaning

fighting for nothing,
waiting for nothing,
hope is the communion I take
for the madness of my sins.

This sadness is the only thing I feel,
my only purity,
the last
of my  humanity.

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Day to Day Poetry, poetry

#13

Boundless energy
I want to suck it out of her
in sporadic doses of drunken hickeys and forgotten mornings,
comb my fingers through those soft, pure curls of hair
and grab handfuls of it in between my hard, worn fingers
clenched unflinchingly into fists
tearing at her virginal skin,
and scratching with putrid nails
digging out innocence I’ve lost out of her,
dancing with anxiety, the monster I feed
under my bed –
you can have him –
don’t stay with me, darling,
I’ll only drown you
in my intrepid
mistakes.

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Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing, poetry

#12 Ghost conversations

I spend my days writing words you will never read –
I spread myself out in social media for you,
hoping you would come across at least one of them
and read and marvel and wonder why you wasted all this time
not wanting to get to know me –
I am but a click away from baring it all,
my body and words burnt permanently across the internet
silently screaming for you to right-click and save as a keepsake
taking up a megabyte in your terabyte hard drive that
you built in the wooden floor of the apartment we once lived in
which you abandoned so that you can enjoy this new life
I am no longer a part of.

I made it easy for you.
Didn’t scream, didn’t fight; just folded my legs underneath my knees
and kept sitting;
my fingers trembling as I continued painting a canvas
I was mentally un-dedicating for you.
Kept watching Netflix while I listened to you packing your bags in the hallway
hoping for a second of silence to tell me you’re hesitating,
that you’re thinking twice about walking away.
But like everything else in your life, once you decided something,
you stuck to it, and kept going –
not a single pause for the days and nights we spent together
holding each other like we were the only people in the world.

Are you reading me yet?
Am I getting through that stone-cold armour even the apocalypse
can’t break through?
I dig through our memories until it rings white noise in my head,
our image a sea of blurred white dots against an ocean of static –
We are old news; a corrupted save file I can no longer reload,
and yet I keep trying.

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Day to Day Poetry, Day to Day Writing, poetry

#11 Lugubrious

I spend my days folding into myself,
shoulders caving in to keep my heart hidden
further and further I go deeper within
so I can disappear
in this chaotic numbness residing
in every inch of my being.

I am no longer whole,
eternally carved;
I can’t stop un-clenching my fists,
I can’t look anybody in the eye.

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