i'm still having mixed thoughts about this blog. and i'm on my way to hang out with a pretty fantastic person, so i am going to try something new here today.

it appears as if my writing non-fictional stuff on this blog is making some people uneasy. but at the same time, i don't really want to be a fiction writer right now. i think the best marriage of both ideas right now would be to post a poem i've written before. maybe even two or three. that way its not fiction or memoir. it could be a mix. but who knows. i'm not even sure what i'm posting yet...


Sometimes

Sometimes at night, I am awakened by your scent. I turn over quickly but you’re never there, so I roll into the dent you made in our old bed and cry myself into a solid slumber. Sometimes I taste you, and I spit you out of my mouth because the familiarly is so sour and I cannot stand it. If I were to swallow, it would be as if you were inside me, like you would be living in me, and the sanguinity would slowly slay me. Sometimes I feel the chill of your hands on my body under the covers, until I realize it’s just the winter air seeping in the cracks of our house you never had the chance to fix. I feel it soak into my skin until it knocks on my bones, and I have to kick and scream under those covers to get it out. Sometimes when the telephone rings or someone knocks on the stupid door, I lose all my senses and my breath drains from my body, so I run to it, and somehow continue to be surprised that you are never there. Sometimes, when I come home, I begin talking to our empty house, and the only reply is the stiff air, which suffocates me, regardless of whatever direction I turn. Sometimes, I drown in my dreams; I’m swimming, and I see you so I swim to you, but you slip out of my vision, and I am pulled down from the reckless current of my memory. The waves of our past crush against me, and I thrash my arms and legs against the water, but I am pulled deeper and I sink in my sorrow. Sometimes.


Untitled

Ten years passed and still I can’t forget
The sight of your knuckles painted by
My blood. The sneer on your
Face. The fact I never really thought you’d
Go this far. I remember that day clearly.
The bridge of my nose
broken, bent, beat, bloody, bruised.
My eye sealed, by your fist, maybe.
I couldn’t see your rage while it happened.
I think that was for the best. I remember
The way you touched me when it was done.
You skimmed my skin, like a dragonfly glides the water.
You cried. I heard your tears fall on my face.
They stung as they hit my nose, my lips.
The tears danced with my blood.
I cried too.
I cried for your pain.
I cried for you.
I didn’t cry for me.