The First

I was looking forward to the first,
the first of many,
the first of ours.
I never expected our last would come first.
Now staring down the barrel
of another year alone,
I can only look back
at the first of our last,
and mourn all the firsts we'll never have.

Think of Me

I loved you.
I still do, in a way
that's new,
or new to me at least.
You don't love me,
whatever,
what're you gonna do?
You know?
But I know you think of me.
When you get home
and no one's turned the ac on
for you
you think of me.
When you cook for one
or wash a single dish
you think of me.
When you walk into an empty place
and can't help but feel the space
you think of me.
When you wake up alone
you think of me.
I love you,
and I know you
and I know you think of me,
I just hope you miss me too.

Homeless

Eviction
from the heart of another
hurts,
more than any other.
Today I felt
the familiar sting
of being
kicked to the curb
with no more than words
and no less.
I feel
cold,
hopeless,
homeless.
Maybe I'm feeling
too much,
it feels like
not enough.
I miss the warm
heart
already.
I wasn't ready.
His arms felt like
home.

Unspoken

Three simple words,
one syllable each,
the entire phrase only costs
one
breath

and yet, not spoken,
not yet. Have patience,
the words will come.
I feel them. Bursting forth
like tears, or an overdue
breath.

I can't be the first.
I must not speak them,
not yet, I am patient.
Yet they hover behind my eyes
for one to see,
They scream in my head,
joyously, and without
breath,

but I can't think loud enough
and my mouth won't say them
not yet, I must be patient.
My body sends the words
in every touch,
in every kiss,
in every
breath

they're there,
three simple words
one syllable each.
Dangerous, powerful
terrifying
and God do I feel them,
in every moment, in every thought,
in every touch,
in every
breath.

I can't say them.
not yet. I must be patient.

A Metaphor (mind dump)

   There is a house in the middle of nowhere. It looks nice enough, obviously it was once a family home, but upon closer inspection one might notice the paint is dirty and the flowerbeds have grown wild. Otherwise there is nothing to suggest the house is unsafe.
   Inside the house is inexplicably cold. The light from outside does not get through the clouded windows. There is no furniture, the walls are bare and cracks run along every one. The floorboards creak threateningly beneath the feet of any who dare trespass.
   Sitting in the middle of the floor there is a girl, holding her knees to her chest with a subtle desperation, as though trying to keep from falling apart. Her parents built the house for her, but ultimately it is her own. The maintenance is all her responsibility, but she has spent so long in the dark she can no longer remember what the house was supposed to look like. Sometimes there is a light on the porch, and laughter, when people visit, but don't venture into the house. When this happens, she is able to escape her tiny world of fear and misery. It never lasts though, and before too long, she is again sitting alone in the dark. There, she is haunted by the ghosts of all those who once filled this hollow place. Their voices ring out around her, so loud sometimes that they shake the delicate walls. It's a wonder they have not yet crumbled, crushing her.
   Over the years, the girl continued to invite people into her home and allowed them to take from it what they needed, never asking for anything in return. The first who came through here took the electricity. Of course day still shone in the window and there was still a fire in the hearth, so the girl did not notice the house growing steadily colder. This is why she sits alone on the floor in a house so still the sound of her choking breath echoes back to her. The last man who came through was there for a long time, he needed support. When he left, he took the internal walls. Now the house creaks dangerously, threatening every day to fall down around her.
   Still, she invites another man inside. When he comes, he bring with him a lantern. This is not the first time anyone has brought something with them to her home, but it IS the first time anyone has left something when they've gone. The lantern is kept in the center of the hollow home, illuminating the damage done by the ghosts. She sees work to be done and plans to fix the place up, make it better so the man with the lantern will continue to return. The oil in the lantern burns out alarmingly fast, but the man happily returns with fresh oil to burn away the darkness. She wishes she had something left to give him, but he never asks for anything in return.
   She lives in terror that he too, will one day leave that place and forget, giving fresh memories to a new ghost that will forever haunt her, like so many others already do. There is no knowing how many more ghosts the house can hold before crumbling. The place is so desolate that even allowing herself to cry and rock herself to sleep like she longs to do could bring it down around her. She tries to hold on to the man with the oil, tighter every time he returns, causing him to squirm in a way that validates her fears.
   Maybe one day they will rebuild it together, and it can be a family home again. Most likely he will leave, like everyone else has. Most likely he will move on and forget. For now she sits alone, haunted.