is it too late
to tell you how i feel?
honey, don’t answer.
i couldn’t bear to hear
all the things you’d have to say.

so keep those lips sealed,
and let me silently pray
that one day these scars heal,
and fade into nothingness,
along with your name.

I feel myself
being consumed
by the universe—
a little more each day.

The sky draws light
from my wounds,
and pulls colour
from my blood—
into rainbows.

I melt,
drown,
vanish—
like ice in wine,
quietly disappearing.

My edges
start to blur,
my shape
less defined.

Though I vanished,
I made the act
of giving fuller—
Like melting ice
lifting water,
An ascent
born gently
from my dissolving.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                    I Gave my Friend a Poem for Her Birthday

I gave my friend a poem for her birthday
“It’s not as much fun as an electric train,” she said,
“But it’s pretty good.”

i finally found a friend who cares!
    no its too good to be true.
but, but she's not like the others, she's kind and sweet!
    ur delusional, that does not exist.
hello?
you were right.
it was too good to be true.

And one night, at two a.m.,
your daughter will grab your face
and say,
"I love you, Mom."
And even though she’s been up for hours,
and your room’s a mess,
and you’re behind on laundry,
and you haven’t had a moment to yourself,
and you’re riddled with anxiety over things that feel unfixable,
and she looks so much like her dad-
all the suffering and pain will melt away for a second,
and you can just be here, in this moment.

My sisters don’t answer their phones
if their boyfriends are asleep-
hardworking men with shifts in the morning
and reputations to keep.
Lunches to pack, clothes laid out neat,
and they do it all willingly,
from a place of love, how sweet.

I did these things too,
once, long ago.
I gave up my needs
for the good wife show.
But if it’s midnight and I want to speak-
I don’t give a **** if that man is asleep.

When’s he been gentle?
When’s he cared back?
I go to work too-
Where the hell is my slack?
A woman stays quiet to keep a man’s peace,
but is that really worth it
when a part of you dies piece by piece?