You’ll finish the bottle you told me not to drink
and then you’ll light the cigarette I hate that you need.
When you finish with your moment of silence,
shared with booze and toxins instead of me,
you’ll lean forward to grab my body like property.
It’s not that you’re a heavy drinker. It’s a little
about how you’re a heavy smoker. But it’s
so much more about how you lean towards me
like some welcome disaster when all I want
is just a moment where you listen instead of touch me.
Or at least it was.
I should thank you for your gruffness, your fully sullied
suit of character. Sometimes when one is in love
the stink of gentle murder can’t be sensed, and had you
been more tactful, more gracious, or more patient
for a mere instant - my heart would have had enough fuel
to trap me in your underserving whims forever.
No Second Chances
No. Because the thrill is old
and our chase has made us
breathless and morose.
No. Because my forgiveness
has made you more arrogant
than it has made you modest.
No. Because you only call to get
when you never give and I’m
not wasting away for you.
No. Because I’ve run out of excuses
for your callous behavior and grown
too autonomous to care any longer.
I loved you as a tide
At the mercy of the sun and the moon
Who commanded my rise or fall
Based on the whims of the earth
I hope one day to love as an ocean
In full command of the depths
So impossible to reach
And the secrets that hide there
Beyond the tease of the light
I hope one day to learn to play
With the forces I cannot control
To ride my currents into storms
And showcase waves of resistance
That live to play off the gravity
I must obey but learn to make my own
I hope one day to learn to accept
That being an ocean is more
Than being a body of water
Succumbing to the circumstances
I know today at least
No sun or moon could love me
Not now after I have learned
To fight commands with storms
I may have loved you once
As a tide bending to your will
But will never love again
Unless its an ocean
Who loves me as an equal
You took only what
I let you to steal.
From the start, I knew
I wanted you to
Love me or ruin me
“ I have asked myself if it might not be better to stop writing, so as not to make everything harder than it already is. What if writing, in some inexplicable way, draws from me even things that I do not want to say, things that I have not intended, or that have hidden in the darkest depths of me, just waiting to be stirred up by my present agitation - a feeling that is hardly likely to obey me? If that happens, then writing will be a merciless interrogation, a hellish affair. And maybe it would be better to break the reed that I have so carefully sharpened at the tip, and toss the ink out on the stone tiles in from of the tekke. That black stain would remind me never gain to take up the magic that wakes evil spirits. ”
— Mesa Selimovic; Death and the Dervish
I went to my bookshelf
in search of all the places
where I last saw love,
only to find you ”
filling all the pages.
— Isabel Sants
“ I had to leave, or I never would have been able to forgive him for making me love him more than I loved myself. ”
— Isabel Sants; Portrait of David