In the quiet mornings
And the passionate evenings

I love you

In the tear soaked laughter
And the tongue stuck gnerfs

I love you

In the lazy afternoons
And echoing snores

I still love you

Because I am me
And you are you

So I will stay
Waiting for you

missing a home you cannot visit
a place no longer yours
tenant openings start to show
as the weather changes

and some viewings could happen
or have

but the leaves still blow
out the door

and she sits empty
for all intended purposes

god were you made for me
I’ve heard that too many times
am I just to be passed around
till I break in someone’s hands?
a china doll
no longer in use

to sit
slow down and actually pause
in all of the things
is so utterly painful
for months
but oh my god
so so worth it

there is something to behold
in women who scream
who feel
who revel
to cry in defiance with them
at the world
at the injustice

there is something to behold,
in women
by women
for women
of women.

The fan whirls while the room rests in silence
That sound used to bug me.
The silence

It felt deafening
Too overwhelming and uncontrollable to be enjoyed
It was relentless
And I hated it

I think
Because it scared me
Because silence is lonely

To be alone is one thing
There can be noise all around you
But to be lonely is another

But
Today I sat in the silence while my fan whirled around the room
And as I watched you slumber

I enjoyed the silence
It was the ambiance to the sunlight kissing your cheek
The silence will always be uncontrollable, relentless, and overwhelming.
But, those are the things I love about you too.

So I sat
As the fan whirled while the rest of the room sits in silence
And the sound bugs me no longer.

Say it to me again
he crooned
as If the soul swallows me whole
and the floor becomes the hearth
to cook the language back to me

what I would give for one more goodbye

a game of pool, a little banter.

we could even pretend we’d never met before, not that we could convince anybody else.

I don’t think we’d get through one game though, not really.

I’d probably spill a drink
and someone would come up and tell you hello, eighty five different ways.

and we’d both remember, and wonder what we’re doing anyways.

Avoiding whispers in the dark

I think
sorrow and bittersweet must be friends.
Having habits of meeting for a couple glasses
where they can laugh, but only through the tears
the best kinds of laughs really.

they must sit.
having affectionate nicknames of *******
and darling
playing the game repetitively

but still they sit
together
sharing drinks and discussing the weather
feeling lighter but as heavy as ever.

Today was a funny day
I couldn’t stop hearing that prime numbers poem in my head
Where 59 loves 60.
And it made me laugh.
Because after the third run through I was curious what you would’ve made of it.
It dulled the ache in my arms and legs as I fluttered around changing my surroundings for the sake of someone’s whim.
The rhythmic sigh of my coworkers as the plastic tore and the heels of tired people grind the ground.

I couldn’t decide whether you were 60 or 59 or maybe even 61.

it’s the way a random song comes on
and I can feel the flicker of your hand
wrapping around my waist

Tucking a thumb into my jeans
an echo of a laugh
bouncing off the skin

leaving me
breathless with a button half undone
the wind taken away
with those echoes and grins

god I hate feeling again

a child’s trust

as they trust jump into your arms

could never be sweeter than anything

except maybe how you smiled at me

leaning against the doorframe

like you could see

forever

did you do it purposefully?

so that when women asked me if you actually took me on those first dates, I had to smile and say yes —

remembering the last week when we just sat in silence because if words were said we’d have to get off the phone.

or was that unintentional?

putting in your all and then breadcrumbing so I felt bad. And when you could see me withdrawing— you bring out extravagance.

So I couldn’t ask for a standard minimum.

But you wouldn’t do that, cause you’re the nice guy.

like she told me.

amidst the thunder
and the wind
the churning waves
aching to break
hear me
roar
with the waters
last refrain

Of all the colours
Between the deep ocean
And vast sky
Your eyes shall remain my favourite pairing

I guess

I’ve made myself into the woman
I thought I would never have to be

Healing is not linear
I like to say as tears fall parallel
Why can’t I let that go
Loosen my grip
On the anger
The injustice
The lies
Why can’t I let that go
For every second that passes
Not the pain you caused
But that I let myself be pained
Over
And over
As the tears fall asymmetrically
Onto a tight fist
And his unopened letters

please
god please
come trace my collar with you lips and my freckles with you fingertips
because i miss the way you laughed along my neck
down that little indent in my palm
i want you to whisper to me
all we didn't get to say
as the night turns into the softest dawn

Sunlight trickles through the blinds
And I am enveloped
In his scent
In his touch
In his sound
And I am content
To lay here
For the rest of my life
With sunlight
Trickling into the darkness
And his hand
holding mine

he loved me like the stars were inconsequential that night.
Like the only thing worth time was studying the way my lips moved and my laugh bellowed

I wanted to whisper through time to the little one running through the halls watching her parents have a water fight through the house; “you’ll find one too”.

i think what really broke me

was the way you said

some nights
you don’t sleep so tight
you relax into sleep
into me, into peace
and some nights
you shudder
and mutter
occasionally
some nights
you grasp me tighter
and others you seem afraid to touch
but a few nights
you settle
snoring like the ocean
and I sigh in unison
Knowing this night was peace

Two coffees.

One heart.

Two grins.

One whisper.

Two moans.

One sob.

Two rings.

One bottle of scotch.

Two coffees.

Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
For the way you knew that they made me smile
And for the way you purposely splashed me to make me beam
Puddles shall remain one of my favourite things
But my favourite thing, my dear, is reserved for you

the floorboards creak as I tiptoe around the hallway, thirsty for air.  

and I find a shelf.

not a big one, not intrusive nor flashy. but a shelf nonetheless.

and upon it, sits unique mason jars. staggered and scribbled with dates. all baggaged and packaged and wrapped up, whisked away from the world to sit on this shelf.

as my toes reached higher, my heart sank lower.

some full to the top, ready to burst. other nothing but drops.

but all dated and all saved.

I rest elbows on said shelf, pondering.

so I hunt.
for something to carry a load so heavy.

when nothing seems to do my hands reach, one at a time, traipsing into the yard with something new.

one by one I lined them together, neat, you know, in a disorganized kind of way.  

my nose crinkled and the thoughts whirled.

til my hands
reached
for the sleeves at my elbows.

pushing them higher to the sky I start to dig.
painting lines in the ground, murmuring affectionate coos to the earth that loves all.

my pockets empty of bulbs and seeds.

Hesitantly pouring

each mason watering a flower. each growing a new being into life with purpose and love.

Sitting back triumphantly as the tears forever water a garden till dry

when i told him about you,

about how safe you made me. smiling while i expressed all the ways you made me realize life was worth all the time and relationships, squeals, and terror, messy open mouth kisses, and doing the thing scared!

i was reminded that you were, and always will be, exactly what i needed- right then. and i just hope,

i was exactly what you needed too.

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If liars
Are the only ones that speak truth

Sometimes
I lay
And wonder
If singers
Are the only ones who are mute

Sometimes I lay
And wonder
If I ever loved you

When pillows take up the chasms that held you
My breath rocks
When tshirts take up the mantle of your scent
My fingers cling
When my form aches to curl against you
My bed quivers

When you take up to leave
My heart leaves too

was it my fault?
that I fell in love with your dreams, your thoughts, your potential, and your cheeky painting that would hang in our living room?

because some times I have to wonder

was it yours?
When in those first few months, you showed me all the beautiful ways you can paint with colours. Diving headfirst into all the ways people can make you smile and fall in love. how you promised me the sky, the moon and the stars. But then, it felt like their weight, became crushing. And those promises became ‘for later’ and the way you told me you’d move anywhere, wasn’t really true. And Christmas of 2027 might’ve been ******* great. But does our dinning room table still look like that?

and I was left wondering if I changed, or you just didn’t really have the rope, to grab them all.

what happened?

is what I want to say.

but I can’t say that. Because I think we both know that as much as I loved you

and you thought you loved me.

where were we going?
where was there room for me

I know some day
a little Lizzy may ask me
“what was your first love like mum?”

and I’ll have to muster up the way to tell her

He was perfect.
because he made me fall in love with life, with love.
With Scotch, and the way the smoke could be found twirling in his perfectly green eyes.
he taught me all the ways I should be loved, and to love in return.
the ways I should be respected, and worshiped.
he kept my heart safe, and gave me freedom, gave me joy like I’d never known before.

And all while choking back the emotion. I’d also have to tell her

but he also gave me sorrow
like I’d never known before.
because for all of his perfection, he was a fish, and I a bird.

we couldn’t reside in each others worlds for too long, cause darling we didn’t fit.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

“Do you miss him?”

Only every time I smell a campfire, taste a scotch, or see the sea.

My dear,
When I tell you love is steadfast.
I mean it is both a roaring river but it’s banks will rise and fall
there will be external forces
And there will be internal ones
That push
On
you
And
them
But in the end
The river always flows

love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

The lights that flicker in the window
across the foggy sea
seem to whisper of the lives
That were always meant to be
The whispering of a lovers flame
The embers running slow
The fog of grief that seems to linger
Bringing in the cold
I once knew the woman
Who stoked a fire so bold  
But the home remains cold & empty
No jolly sailor bold
but light still flicker
Across the foggy sea
a little mantle to others
those who were never meant to be

crawl into the little tin with me
I’ll make space for you

actually I’m allergic to tin
that’s fine
I guess we’ll shudder in the freezing cold
together

wished we talked more about wanting to be kissed

And how it is so very different when comparing to  wanting someone to kiss you.

You said it was the moments in between.

But really

It’s the moments frozen in time with you.

It’s the trivial patter of feet.
It’s way you squeezed my left hip just to let me know.
It’s the way you dry your hair and the world disappears.
It’s the way your head fully tilts back to laugh, and your voice drops a register. my breath only registering against your chest.
It’s the way you kiss my neck, breathing me in.  
It’s the way you allow me to know your thoughts, so that I may bottle them away to save them when I need to be enveloped in the ideas of you.
It’s the way you’ll dance with my two left feet, even though you know the way.
It’s the way your hands move when explaining versus describing, and the shifting of your brow.
It’s the way you tell me you love me and the depths hidden within your eyes.

While the moments in between may hold the foundations of your love,

It’s when time stands still

Where you hold me in the sunshine and the starlit sky,

It’s the way you tell me you love me, and I think I know why.

I hate nights like now

when I can hear the sputter and puttering of the rain
as it goes about its way
and I am left
thinking back on many nights
where I was out immediately
against a heartbeat and grumble

feeling a safety I haven’t known since

Sometimes
I forget the way your hip fits
and other times
I forget you like the heat
But never
do I forget the way you love me
in the daylight and in the sheets

I’ve stopped looking at you in wonder
not because you aren’t wondrous
but because I no longer see us as too good to be true
I don’t know when it happened
Or how
But I know while you rest this afternoon with hands on my limbs
I can feel the dust settling on a midsummer dream
and while the dream remains light, wondrous and new
The home I made with you
Was built slowly through slow dances and arguments and patience
Built by long conversations and silent smiles
Home with you
isn’t wondrous, it’s a cup of tea after a long day
Home with you is a choice
and I chose you

there aren’t words
and golf clubs don’t hit hard enough
because at the end of the day
you won’t ever get to hold my Elizabeth or my Theodore
and I still don’t know
If I’m mad at
or simply for you
because you said we’d get to laugh at the way a white dress would twirl round as **** jokes were said and tears were shed
But instead
I just miss you

As I sit
Stationary
      Crowded
        and Tired
I find myself
Running
      Freely
       and Leaping
After you

The painter does not worry
About the sculptor being buried

The painter simply sees
That to carve a throne may be his trade
But The crown is not carved with his name

This throne and it’s duties were simply not yours to carry.

I can paint all the clouds in the sky, and I may be able to hold them too

But atlas is there for a reason

As I am here too.

So as I paint all the starry nights in the sky

And you move mountains

The sculptor must see

The rock cries too.

when we try to compare strength
in the moments of silence
and in screams

I feel we miss the point

when I would dream
of the days to come
I never once pictured myself
really detailed
in the imagery

until now
where the details in the creases on my eyes
are plain to see
from where you kept me smiling
for all to see

“sorry hockey is life”

and i laughed, letting the dots display themselves like I hadn’t already made up my mind now. “Gotta do what you gotta do” I said.

Staring up into the final swipes of mascara. Wondering who would it benefit if I just took it off and put on the hoodie instead now? but I gotta do, what I gotta do. Just like him, apparently.

And I bought the beer. Mostly cause I pinky promised, remind me never to do that again.

And I sat there playing crib, enjoying the conversation, more the beer than anything. Laughing to myself as I caught the flicks from eyes to screen to Phillies to screen.

cause, you know…

“Hockey is life”.

so I sat pretty, sipping my beer. Thinking about all the amazing things life has to offer. Other than hockey.

Its weird having to balance
the rage, the grief, the love, the loss
in the moments where there were helicopter rides and recycle that was never done

i felt like i was crazy? to ask for something so normal - so real. when you were gifting me with other amazing experiences.

till i heard you tell my father i spent that much to make you dinner, when i wasn’t the one that wanted that liquor.

And in the early morning
I lie awake
Watching
As the sunlight dances across his back and his breath becomes the undertones to my heartbeat.

It is then
In this early morning
Where the world has paused, still in frozen slumber
That I know

I love him.