Let it entomb you. Let the thing inside you rot and grow and brown. Let it fester there unencumbered. Let it chip away at your very being. An ocean against the weary foundation of your mind. A cancer in the soft flesh of your soul. A drought in the storm of your imagination. Let it well up within you. You are not a Man. You are not a corpse. You are not a tomb or a stone or flesh or a storm. You are only this. For a moment, give yourself wholly to sadness. Let it be.

My arms are aching
Not from excess, but from a lack
I do not touch

I do not touch you
Something stops me every time
I do not touch

I do not touch you
But I can't stop wanting
I do not touch

I do not touch you
I do not touch
I do not touch I do not touch

But my arms are aching
I am sore from a lack of reaching
I do not touch.

Yesterday he gave me that look.
He furrowed his brow with deep concern
To tell me how proud he was
Of me.

Yesterday he drunkenly hugged me
And when I pulled away
He grabbed me again
And whispered,

"I'm not done with you yet."

Yesterday I wished he would be
Done with me yet.
But only just
Yesterday.

I swore I'd do a life cleanse before I saw you again.  But here I am at your door.

You know that I want you. I'm sure of it.
But still the little tortures come.
Your cheshire smile glowing brightly.
Your hand holding mine to your side.
Your unbridled compliments and playful digs
Each with their subtle symptom of love.

But you don't love me. You just love being loved.
And I'm tired of writing poems about you
And screaming to the heavens that I am yours.

Love is something given
Freely
Not something you earn
Why
Do I struggle remembering
That
When I'm with you while I
Try
So hard to be what and
Who
You're looking for.

I've fallen in love with a hurricane
With death and danger
A natural disaster
I've tried so hard to make it work
To calm that storm
Raging in him

But today I let it go.