Tuesday, October 28, 2014


[FUN FACT: This poem, along with "The Temporary Guest", has been published in the Spring 2015 issue of Hypertrophic Literary. You can buy that issue here on Amazon if you're interested! There are also cool works from a bunch of other people too :)]

I maintain
that I was the one who loved him the
most. A hundred forty decibels -
the only way I know how to love.
A person dies when you say their name
for the last time; I wish he were a
ghost. But he is not

I am damned
if I ask questions and look like I
care. I would rather care more than less;
rather sadness and fighting self-doubts
than make you feel, do, that, for you are
such a simple soul it would not be
fair. And I am not

I am damned
with silence; they are watching me for
signs. I was supposed to cry and wilt,
like flowers that almost outlived us.
The relentless storms were going to
consume us anyway; so I am
fine. Though you have her

She will not
be your first sleepless night, for it was
me. Not your first love letter; I keep
it in my drawer - your misspellings,
threat-induced words, frantic scrawl, and all.
Not your first time feeling like you were
free. Though not for long

But she will,
or at least, I hope, be some of your
firsts. The first time you say "I love you"
for no reason, the first time you feel
you can be you without judgement that
lies still before erupting - we were
cursed. And we both knew

I maintain
that I loved him so, it stretched past my
mind. A hundred forty decibels -
the only way I know how to love.
They say true love should morph into a
"we had our time", ethereal
kind. But it has not.