I guess not

When you were here you were everything.  You were all that mattered.  My only focus and the only thing I wanted to know.  Everything I did was because of you and everything I wanted to do was as well.

Then, when you were gone, it intensified.

You were all that mattered and all I thought about.  Imagining what could have been.  Imagining what still might be.  I was living in a dream world on two different plains, and then you came back.


You came back.  You were here and I was there and we were perfect.


I was you and you were me.  Well, not exactly but we worked so well together and we were all we needed.  You were all I needed and I was everything you wanted, at least for a short while.  I thought we were going to last a while.  It seemed like we would last a while.  Years.  But, I guess not.

A failed poem

I didn’t think about you tonight,

at least until now.
Does thinking about how I’m not thinking about you count as not thinking about you?

I didn’t write about you either.

I have recently but not yesterday,
nor the day before that.
That’s weird, right?

You weren’t in my dreams.

Although I often didn’t dream about you.
Why dream when the real thing was better?

Your lips didn’t race my heart,

or my hands up your thigh in a heated kiss on a cold, cold night.

I’m starting to think that maybe your spell has lifted.

That the magic is gone,
or merely has waned to the point of non-existence.

Our story didn’t didn’t last.

I failed at writing this poem.
You never liked poetry anyway.

When 4 am is too early to go to bed

I don’t know if I can lust after you any more and that feeling is so strange.  The urge is there but the push to do it has faded.  You’re like a flower picked from the garden and wilting under the sun.  It used to be something quite pretty but now the petals are showing their weakness.  How much longer can you last?

This is tired, this whimpering lust.  The forced need to suck the blood from your lips after biting my way in.  Eye to eye so I can watch you flinch when the skin breaks.  I want it but only because of muscle memory.
We’re like a long drive in the middle of the night.  I need your voice to keep my eyes open and my mind sharp.  You’ve been asleep in the passenger seat and my eyelids are getting heavy.  Wake the fuck up, I need you.

So will you be gone eventually?  Just like the girl with the killer smirk and the devil woman?  Karen with the fluffy bra and the one with the legs and the smirk?  The misleading girl who injected so much into me?  Will you survive or will you be a memory of something I want to bring back but can’t seem to find?

Maybe not.  Perhaps it’s just a hot day and a little bit of cool air will bring back your color.  The pink and purple in your eyes.  The lift in your limbs.  You’re the one who survived the longest and if anyone has a second chance it’s going to be you.

Good enough was never good enough

You were a piece of something special in a lumberjack shirt hiding the most lust worthy bust I had ever seen, and I threw it away because I’m really quite the idiot.

I got scared.  That’s the part I told you.  It’s not like it was a lie, it was the truth.  Someone barked and my head couldn’t keep focus.  The gun shot threw me off, which is stupid because things like that never throw me off.

What really did us in was me being unsure.  This may be the undercurrent in every fucked over relationship I’ve ever had.  I never know if I want to deal with another person all the time, every time.  If I commit to one person and I’m stuck with them will it all turn out the same anyway.

And I know where this is coming from.  Even if I never could put my finger on it before, you were the best example of it.  That relationship to end all relationships fucked me up.  I hate being the poster boy for commitment issues because it always seemed like bullshit to me, but here I am.  I’ve got commitment issues because when I was fully committed I felt like I was physically committed.  You suffered for that.  All of you did.

Now I only have our words and their bittersweet smiles.  You were always so fucking good to me and even when it was unequivocally one sided I never knew whether you were for me or against me because of my own bullshit.  You were always with me though.  Always on my side, no matter what.

But it’s been two years now since we last talked.  I don’t know where you are or how to get a hold of you.  I guess you’re as good as gone.  I’ll hope not but it’s not promising.  I’d at least hope to get to say thank you.  A chance to rectify a goodbye that shouldn’t have been.


Hey, you

Hey, I miss you.

I know I’ve said it many times in many different ways but that doesn’t take away from the feeling I have every time I think it.  It doesn’t take away from the way I feel when I want to hear your voice or remember the touch of your lips against mine.  I keep coming back to it, more and more lately.  I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been writing more and you are what I write, or if it’s because I’ve been reading what I wrote for you.  Either way it hurts.  Either way I want to tell you.  Either way I know I can’t.

Hey, I’m confused.

I don’t know if I’m just lonely or if you meant that much to me.  It sounds shitty to say but in reality nobody really knows.  Loneliness is missing the person that meant the most to you.  We don’t know if we’re lonely because we don’t have someone or if not having someone is making us lonely.  We can be alone in a crowd but not often alone with one other person.  I always thought you were my one other person.  Maybe that was my fault.

Hey, come back.

It’ll all happen again, I know that.  I don’t care.  I want you back.  I want you here.  I want the excitement of knowing you’re out there.  I want to have something to look forward to at the end of my days.  I want your responses and all of your words.  Even if we’re doomed to repeat this a thousand times I’ll gladly fall on my sword for each ending if it means we get to go another round.

The piano’s playing a lonely key.  The silence in between the music sounds louder this time.  There are no strings, only the piano key.  I keep waiting for the next press to never come.  I’m waiting.  Hey, I’m waiting.

Dear Pablo

Dear Pablo,

I envy the pain that’s ached your life and has carved such beautiful scars.

I wish I could hurt as bad as you have.

To know the ripping contrast of emptiness and burning need

To be haunted by soft lips

To hear the echo of your name in her voice

Frozen at the smell of her perfume.

Dear Pablo,

I wish I could have loved as you have loved

and etched memories in my depths and in my soul.

To know the anger of being forgotten and to tell her I have forgotten her too.

To tell her I don’t feel the pain she caused anymore because

I can’t remember the way we kissed or how it killed me every time.

Dear Pablo,

I will never sing any language as eloquent as you

I can never hope to love a woman with your passion and vigor

All I can dream is that the pains I feel are deep

All I can ask is that when she leaves I’ll know a part of what you suffered.


It’s hard to think of you,

because it didn’t work,

it didn’t last,

and the silence between us tells me that this is it.

I have to force myself to see you,

and bring you back into the forefront of my mind.

I never thought that would be possible.


Perhaps I’m being melodramatic.

Spilling words on the floor for effect.

Watching them mix and intertwine the same as we did,

in bed, in the car, on the stairs, on the kitchen counter.

I don’t know if the fond memories hurt more than the painful ones,

or if they hurt more than a lack of you,

and us,

kissing our goodnights.

But when I do think of you I get to smile for a moment,

even if its brief,

a flash of your eyes,

you and me.

i won’t always be there

Is it safe to say that I love you still after all of these months?
Your name never really left the tip of my tongue.

You showed up like a fresh bed of snow when the forecast was clear.
It’s funny how I missed the cold.

I’m sorry, I’m just excited.
When someone special goes away and they aren’t supposed to come back,
it means a little more when they do.

So, yes, I’m excited to see you.

And I may let out a little more than otherwise intended.
The things I try to pull and strings I try to control,
never turn or twist the way I bend them.

Yet everything I do and say is with love inside my heart.
So when you tell me, “anyways,” I fall a bit apart.

I know I push too hard but it’s the only way I know.
Changing never seems to work because I always go,
back to how I really am, it’s all that I can show.
Please stop beating my heart with your dismissive tone.

It’s not a warning or a threat, because with you I never could,
but a heart can only take so many hits before it knows it should,
put on a coating, a hard veneer, that will protect it anywhere,
with a few words carved in it, “I warned I wouldn’t always be there.”