son of a bitch. I'm not in hell, because I do have lovely things. But I AM in purgatory. I must be! I left Maine back in the day, in order to be somewhere warmer and do something good for kids. And now...I'm in Maryland...which should be warmer than Maine. But it is fucking 8 degrees! And I have three lovely, amazing kids of my own. Something I always wanted... For a while, I thought I wanted kids and no man to be beside me because that was just too complicated. Then, I thought, perhaps, I wanted a man, but no kids...and then...I met John. Shit. John, you meant so much to me: you were hope for someone to love me, you were strength in life, you were belief in the next generation, you were laughter here and now, you were the reality of facing fights...and now. Now. Mother of god you are gone. I reach for you so hard in my dreams...sometimes, you are there...not often. I flirt with the past too much, maybe, to let you in all the way...there are moments of butterflies that cover me in the mixtures not deep of hope and faith and loss and hope all mixed together...oh I am lost. Lost so much deeper than I ever imagined. How can you find me? How can love find me, ever again? Before you, I was so lost and confused...and after you...son of a bitch. It is better in only one way, which also makes it worse: I know it CAN be. Someone can love me...messy, imperfect, annoying, and completely totally whole. The question now: do I believe it can happen again, for me? Oh motherfucker, I don't. I was lucky and it was crazy that it happened the first time. How unusual you were...in so many ways, but in the special way, that is what I mean. You touched me. You had the patience for my crazy. Now, my crazy is calmer, mostly, but much much deeper. How can anyone reach me here? why did you leave me? why the fuck did life make that happen? I can shake my head a hundred times to shake the feeling...it won't leave...
once upon a time
a million lifetimes ago
you touched me
you held me and you fought with me
you would NOT
walk away
you wiped away fear, THE fear
that walking away was
an option
your imperfect, crooked arms
held me better than anything ever had
and now
now there are nights
wine and cigarettes
and fear and anxiety
quite a lot of anxiety
and
no one
no one
no one
there isn't anyone.
I look online
I look in the bars
I sift through my past
I find bandaids
momentary moderate fixes
I don't want to drink
I don't want to smoke
I want to take care of you
I want you to care for me
I want to fight with you
about dishes
and laundry
and other stupid chores
I want to melt like a candle
into the past that is broken
fill the cracks with my liquid wax
I want
very very much
to be the one
who believes
that good things will come
I have good things: healthy kids
a job that is hard as hell,
people who love me close and from a distance
all
I
want
is
your
arms
your
mouth
your love
your arms around me
your presence
your voice
your smell
your laugh
I
WANT
YOU
BACK.
and I won't ever get that, no matter what I do.
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