Just call it what you want.
I keep talking to them as if they would understand me.
I keep hoping they would.
I keep holding space for their personalities to resurface – rise above and walk on water
Fuck, my…
suboptimal pain threshold of making mine yours
rejecting hope as a dangerous habit
‘cause I knew, I knew I’d have to be deficient in something
I keep expecting them to answer in the way you would
for the record,
they do not.
I wouldn’t need a reason, you know that, right? I don’t have one now either. I’m just, it’s been two years, and you are still the only person…yeah, I won’t say that out loud. I was thinking the other day about our imaginary life in new york—the one you didn’t know anything about, because we never actually talked about it, because I was afraid we’d break up. We did. Anyway, there is no loft; there is no kitchen island; no yellow flowers; no collections of fine wines; no burnt pancakes on Sundays; no sex on the windowsill. Everything is gone. I will never go to new york; I don’t want to go to new york anymore. fuck new york.
It wouldn’t be love—just a yoga studio around the corner; I’d eventually find a bookstore owned by a tiny woman; some random barista named Jil would get my order right EVERY SINGLE TIME. I wouldn’t adopt a dog, but I’d have a little kitten. It won’t have a name. It would wake me up at night. I’d share it casually: “Last night, it snuggled down in ITS sleep next to me”. I can’t let go. You had the largest smile. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable. I probably made you uncomfortable, that’s why. I was wrong, yk, I was so wrong. I should have said something; I should have sent you the letters, and I did. I did send you the letters, didn’t I? All 45. You read them all.
Please do not answer. Please never answer. It’s a moment of weakness. Tomorrow I’ll be fine. I am just sleep-deprived. I am just tired. So very tired. I am just lonely. I’ll find someone on Tinder. I’ll take a shower. Put some clean clothes on. My long-sleeve shirt…the green one, yes, I should burn it or something…no, it’s not the smell; I have a washer, yk, it’s just…it’s been a heavy day, such a weird day…I almost…no, I promised! I wouldn’t dare…not again…and I know, I know…you are probably dating someone or something, you are probably busy or something, you are probably over or something…My voice is not shaking. I wouldn’t need a reason, you know that, right? Next week it’s my birthday, but you know)
This is a very serious poem with no hidden meaning
I think it happened when you left the table while I was still eating
I think—it’s happening again
what has already happened when
I kept reaching for nothing
I stopped kissing lightly
the lips that weren’t kissed but hunted
I joined forces with the foes, all friends of yours
They all agreed—the fool is dancing for the king, not vice versa, unless he’s dunning
You can’t pretend there is no punning
The fool is always dancing for the king!
There is no lion
You won’t be roaring
until you get to scream out of your depth:
You are just a poem
You are just a poem
You are just a poem now
You will be missed when you stop trying—I know they all despised that greedy pig
You can’t pretend there is no punning!
unless he’s funning you or them or me: the unbearable darkness of staying loyal
I think—it’s happening again
what has already happened when
I called on GOD for ships to sail—the last one seen has shipwrecked
How have you been?
Fine.
Slept alright? mostly, yeah…
But yk, you weren’t there…marking your territory, luring the sailors onto the rocks
like a drowning siren, I can’t sing anything anymore
It must have sailed
The spellwork must have failed
I am smiling and terrified…I can’t write anything anymore
I think it happened when you left the table
While I was still there, frozen, in the ducking stool from Ikea, I always hated that chair
In the elevator, 4th floor, you said you were happy—there was no lion roaring
I know you always despised me for asking
I pretty much knew it was over after that
Eyes closed.
I summon her images
her face
her dimples
her body
her stretch marks
her touch
her touching my innocence
with nowhere to go
with no one to love
I live with imaginary paintings
among imaginary feelings
I live in imaginary spaces
among imaginary faces
Did you call to find out if I was in my right mind
or not
Did you knock?
on a
door
locked
Did you throw away the letters?
from left to right, which read –
I am not ready
from right to left I read –
ready not
Am I?
Crossing paths with strangers
Avoiding their glances
Always looking at their shoes
Never at their faces, little Miss scaredy-cat is actually afraid
Never missed a thing—thought she’d die defeated
If she passed you by.
That must have been the universe finally breathing out
after holding its breath for six months
So that you know:
The clocks are ticking again, and the snow is already melting
still cold—happy wrinkles buried in my babushka scarf
Your feet are wet. There was a joke somewhere, but not now!
Now I look nice, don’t I?
That wasn’t my voice calling your name; it must have been my guardian angel.
Long goodbyes in the hallways. Someone to pick you up at the airport/train station. A best friend you can fuck without a condom. Ferritin – 307ng/ml. Watching a movie without checking your phone. The discipline of reading every day for an hour. Someone to make you coffee without asking. Lying in `savasana without twitching your left leg. A long oversized coat which feels like a hug—preferably black. I should have said something before getting into that cab—he cries when I cry, yk. (anything would have sufficed). Anyway, a nice box to solve my Christmas ornaments storage crisis. Someone to call you a witch, no, not someone, him. To write without believing you suck. To be ok with the fact that you might suck. To do it nevertheless. Someone so patient and so so kind…that it would make the absence almost ok. Someone who comes back.
To cook for two and set the table for two; they do the dishes. To eat freshly picked walnuts from your Grandma’s tree, it’s late May, and your hands are all black from the iodine. A rainy weekend and nowhere to be. Unread books on the floor. To keep at least one plant alive for a whole year. A child to trust you with their secrets.
Wearing a dress with deep pockets—deep pockets in general. Drinking tea in the kitchen with your best friend. A best friend. Weeping on the bathroom floor because they are gone. Being so comfortable around them that you start speaking in your native language without realizing it. Someone to fantasize about when you touch yourself. Loving, hating, and remembering the damage they’ve caused— it’s been 2 years, yet staying present. Someone to invade your “personal space” because they crave you, someone to crave—and it is preferably the same person. Someone to mirror your micro expressions—even when they try not to, especially when they try not to, but you notice. To always notice. Falling apart because you are convinced they’ve moved on. Long train rides somewhere far, far away. Not eating, not sleeping. To eat, to sleep. Not washing that one sweater because it smells like them; Not wearing it either, it could mess with the scent.
Oranges, simply oranges (thank God, oranges exist). Baking for the sake of baking. Never giving up. Finally giving up. Someone to buy your shampoo because they miss the smell of your hair, no, not someone, him. Sharing an appetizer, even though they could afford plenty, and they will end up paying for the dinner anyway. Someone to know how you take your drink. Accidental meetings in the supermarket—both thinking it happened exactly like in that show, and agreeing that it’s not like this with other people.
You think I am ok. You think I am ok, don’t You
I bet You think I’m just fine
The payback’s like a boomerang. It remembers everything. It comes after everyone
I didn’t New Year text myself back into your life – look at me growing up:
Too many espresso martinis
A glass of vodka half empty. I bet yours is always half full; I think it’s the patriarchy or my desire
to pull a Sylvia Plath
I am joking, just joking, my oven is electric
The floor’s wet: my chest split open
Why the chest? Unspecified!
Everybody knows the grief’s in the hips, duh
It’s the perfect lie:
Too much pressure
Too much to want
Too much to need
Not enough willingness to try (sad music playing in the background)
I do not qualify as a bullet point, nor do feelings mean anything
You wouldn’t show mercy, nor would you knock on my door
some time in the far far ahead, after a protracted period of doing all the things you wanted to do with your life – eyelashes heavy; deep breaths on my couch. Except: I do not own a couch.
On the floor, yes, ok, on the floor – It’s the perfect description of hitting rock bottom
But give it another six months…I dare you, or is this a promise?
The payback’s never too late nor too early. It remembers everything. It comes after everyone.
Kneeling in the middle of the room, making you feel cool
Do you want me to stop? Or, would you want me to join? Skilful mastery of performing for two – I can take care of us both.
Pretty little moments:
Unbiased trivia for hoes or never looking back in the name of dodging THE bullet?
Stalker alert or rolling our boulder up the hill? Intense you say
As in: I’d die tomorrow if I could. I actually tried a couple of times. Some time between August and June
Everybody knows the second year’s always harder than year one. Why? Undefined! Or, perhaps
As in: crazy pathetic I kinda hate your guts now
Everybody knows it’s terribly romantic to die from a broken heart
The floor’s wet: My chest split open. Kneeling in the middle of the room, making me feel – love tastes like Nivea body soap for men and capitulation…bubbles, bubbles everywhere
Your firm collarbone against my forehead
on the tips of my toes
You haven’t showered today, and I wouldn’t want you to
I do (too) think that tomorrow’s not coming anymore
Stay, just stay, would you?
2 drinks in and I am no longer a stranger
Was I ever? It only dies if you want it dead
It is only real if you stop running from it
When I said I am not a mindreader—I lied
Your hips, my inner thighs
Close your eyes, just close your eyes, imagine
hiding in love inside an apartment, warming the covers
my
soften liable toes
I do (too) think there’s no tomorrow
Stay, just stay, would you?
I now
must go clean something. Forgive me
I made you uncomfortable
I think tomorrow’s not coming
I let myself remember
I go to the movies a lot
’cause he’s there
I know
He is always going to be there
{what a moron, he let her go, what a film, and killing your rook like that, what a lame excuse}
Nobody cooks in that kitchen, and the spices have grown mold
because he knows
{It’s exactly the same}
Nu mai port fustă
neagră cu poalele lungi, simțită numai în spirit
de parcă fibra sintetică ar avea față, cu sprâncenele spânzurate chiar
ai crezut că timpul iartă
vânătoarea abia acum începe, dragă
arăți prea alb pentru un cineva care s-a găsit însfârșit
aceeași
gura cât mura
ochii plini să te încălzească în reflecție, sau să nu
moară de frig buzele nesărutate
tot ce mi-ai dat mi-ai dat din deșărtăciune—un moise rupător de ape, dar
m-am înecat în lacrimi de reptilă semiacvatică
mă crezi?
lasă sufletul afară
chiar ai crezut că timpul uită
la minus 5 ca minus 25 încă se latră la lună
să nu moară fricile de foame
în orașul plin de sex conjugat la performativ
dureri fantomă de membre amputate
scroll back la pervazul pe care nu m-ai avut—încă o dată
nici nu aș purta fustă cu poalele lungi primite în penitență
un iuda semipragmatic ascuns după tivitură
scroll back la coapsele înmuiate din living
zvîc de bărbat recunoscut
vânătoarea abia acum a început
de parcă fibra sintetică se roagă
să nu mă îndrepte aburul blestemat
să nu mă acopere lâna bătrână
pulover de la mama, iar mama îl are tot de la mama
haina bună se poartă o vreme; dacă ai grijă de ea te ține
jur pe ața roșie învârtită pe deget—dureri fantomă de membre amputate
scroll back la pervazul pe care nu m-ai cerut
dacă fibra sintetică ar avea față
aș întoarce-o pe dos, să nu vadă cum dai
scroll back la pervazul pe care…pe vine
mă vezi, mă auzi: vecinii ascultă
primește iubirea
ea este—dacă ai grijă de ea te ține
Last 3 letters of the spring 