How To Be At A Loss. 

It’s that feeling the day after another failed firstdate when you’re trying to decide if you should fake it till you make it, or accept the truth in all it’s painful glory; 

That the man of your dreams only exists there, and that if he’s not calling you it’s not because he’s too busy right now, it’s because he’s not interested.

It’s the moment when one does  call, and you’re too wrapped up in the possibility that there might be someone out there who checks all your boxes, that you don’t see the one in front of you is more than happy to meet your highs expectations, if you’ll just let him know what they are.

So once again you’re all alone, and you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.

It’s in the moment you realize it’s been almost 2 months since you last spoke to your sister, because sometimes we fight about one thing and it uncovers one million other reasons to hold off on an apology, but more than that is it it is accepting that even the people we love do not shy away from hurting us, and if that’s not the definition of growing up then let’s not grow up at all. 

It is, once again, when you find yourself taking that first sip of Earl Grey tea after abstaining for months, because that was his favorite tea, savoring the initial sweetness of it till all of a sudden the Bergamont tastes like blood and you realize you’ve been biting your tongue to keep from crying the whole time, so instead you throw the cup against a wall and watch the drips copy the pattern your tears make as they fall down your face wondering how it got so bad, wondering when they’ll name a natural disaster after him, because that’s the kind of infamy he deserves. 

It is when you force your way into the bathroom and find your find friend on the floor, and the only thing you know how to do is to join her there and repeat the lines you know you’re supposed to say 

it’s going to be okay or you’re going to get better, begging her to hear resolution in  your words and not uncertainty and you’re trying to find a way to apologize for letting it get so bad, because you know all too well how easy it is to get sucked into a black hole, devoured in a way that only secrets can do. 

So you’re sorry and he’s sorry and we’re all sorry and he’s gone and you’re misreading the signs that point home. 

 Maybe you’re lost or maybe you’re just stuck for as long as you want to be. 


For The Women Who Can Never Get Enough. 

I wanted to be perfect for you, to be kind and soft and strong and pliable, 

But somewhere along the way I became too much of all those things. Too kind, and my weakness irritated you, too soft and every way you could hurt me seemed that much worse when you actually did, too strong when neither of us would back down, too pliable when you needed a change, 

When you needed me to change. 
I traced please don’t go into your skin last night as you slept, 

Whispered into the dark all the secrets I had kept, confessed all the ways I had begun to hate you, in a last ditch effort to pretend like admitting the reasons had become a reality was the same thing as pretending they hadn’t. 

But when you’re leaving dishes in the sink, I’m memorizing the names of all the men I’ve loved before you, wondering if any of them will take me back. 

I took the steady rise and fall of your body in its sleep cycle as forgiveness, the silence as you slept on unaware of what was happening as my penance. This was supposed to be how I showed that I cared, 

To be able to tell you these things was to be able to not need to, ever again, 

But the spot where you were sleeping just hours ago is empty, I let my guard down and closed my eyes and you snuck out, and I wish you had taken the sun with you and I can’t hide that

I’m sorry, but I have to is becoming more visible between the spots my tears made as they dropped onto the sheets.