things i would tell you if i could find the right wordsMature

this is a very personal piece, so please do not "share" this on other websites or give it any ratings or critical feedback.  this is not a piece i'm looking for constructive input on.  again, it is very, very personal so please respect that.

i
I know I’m a mess and I know I’m hard to handle
but it has been years now and I have never felt
as alone as I do now; your arms are still the
place I feel the most complete but your presence
feels so hollow.

ii
Everything you’ve been seeing in my eyes
is real; it all exists and it all hurts and I don’t
really know what I’m going to do when I run out
of space to store these broken things and 
that scares me because they might spill out
from my lips - and then what?

iii
I am not good enough, I am not
good enough, I am not good enough;
I am not good enough, I am not
good enough. I have never ever been
good enough.

iv
Not to be critical but you could try a little harder
to make me feel like you understand anything
I have succeeded in doing, like you give a damn
that I’ve done it or not done it or have managed
to survive it.

v
They say suicide is selfish, that it’s a permanent
solution to a temporary problem - 
but I’ve been toughing this out for the better part
of a year now and every day I wake up tired and
count the bruises and the scars and the waded up
reminders of how often I cry and this certainly seems
like a permanent problem with only temporary solutions.

vi
Did you know that you’ve only ever said my name
while we fucked one time in the entire eight years
that we’ve been fucking?  I say your name more times -
while fucking, during conversations, from the other room -
in one day than you have in the entirety of our relationship.

vii
I do not think that you are a bad man.  I do not think
that you have failed to be a good man, I do not think
that you have become a lesser man instead.  I try not
to force you to conform to my expectations
of the kind of man you should be, but you’re not
the man I thought I was marrying and this understanding
is what is killing me.  Am I not the woman you thought I’d be?

viii
I weave you into my poetry like air. The last time you wrote about me
was when I broke your heart - and please keep in mind
that I’ve only done so once and that you continue to do it 
like it is what will keep me around.

ix
I do not feel pretty around you.
Instead, I am surrounded by the ghosts
of girls you’ve chosen over me, strangers in the dark
whose names you never learned and whose stain
is only on me, not you.

x
I used to recall fondly the way we were
when we were younger - handsy, full of need
and eager to make up for closeness we’d been denied
simply by not knowing - but these days
it only hurts.

xi
Your ring finger is as naked as the day we met -
as naked as the day you met that waitress and
stopped returning all my calls, let me hear it through
old friends turned acquaintances -
and I know you are unaware but every single day I notice, 
I am reminded, and I think I am not as permanent
as this marriage license implies.  How many years
is it going to take for you to make up your mind on me?

xii
I am cracked and leaking out and these are 
wounds that you have inflicted but your hands 
are always otherwise occupied when I am spilling out,
sloshing over the rim of my glass, staining the floor.

The End

8 comments about this poem Feed