24 April 2011

les positions, avec toi.

Position,
the hallway in our office.
Back me into a corner,
your arms trapping me
and your hands flat against the wall.
Come closer,
lips barely touching lips.
Thick French accent speaking English,
I really want to kiss you.
You lick the corner of my mouth.

Another position.
On my back.
Your long hair,
black with some grey,
all over my naked thighs
as you eat me out.
Stopping every now and then,
to tell me dirty words
in French.

10 April 2011

finalities

I walk through the day
as though I am sentenced to death,
steady steps taken to hide
my trembling body
and my head held high to mask
the sorrow in my eyes.

If you keep your word,
it will be tonight
and it will be the last night
where our words will sadly play together -
slam of the door,
the last chapter closed,
no more ink in the pen,
and the silence of the end of a relationship.
We will linger until we forget
that we were ever in each other's lives.

I am not strong enough to say goodbye
and I am too stubborn to forget.

(scribbled in late 2010/early 2011)

06 April 2011

late night wounds

Stupidly and foolishly,
I miss you.
I miss you even though you treated me like trash.
I miss you even though all I ever was,
essentially,
was a seven year long conquest - a fuck -
who made you feel good when you needed
a pick-me-up.
You didn't love me.
You lied.
You got what you wanted and
you hoped I would go away.
After seven years of secretly and not-so-secretly
loving you so fiercely ...
it is an unbelievable HURT and EMPTINESS
that I cannot even begin to describe
other than "it is like my entire belief structure
was completely wrong".
It's difficult, after all this time, knowing I meant nothing.
All of this bullshit could have been cleared up
in a thirty minute honest phone call.
Seven years of loving something,
seven months of heartache -
this is not getting easier, C.

But I miss you.
I miss how I could turn to you when things felt dark
and I felt neglected.
I miss believing, perhaps blindly, that there were
always arms to be held in ...
always your smile to support me.
I miss knowing that I had a friend in you.

I have no one.

He boasts of her voice, his talent.
I cannot help but hear that same voice
but much angrier ...
"You do not deserve my support.
All you do is rot."
How is this love?
Don't we support our partners
and cheer them on regardless of the event?
I am not an artist.
I work in an office.
I do not have a creative talent.
I sew, I scribble, I remain in close contact with friends.
I do not deserve his support and I rot.
I hear these words always even if things are fine.
It hurts as much as your silence.

Actually, his asshole behavior is of no surprise.
You surprised me.
I miss you.
I shouldn't ...
but I do.