Poetry

By the glow of the laptop screen.

I pull my hair to one side of my head
I scratch my forehead
I sniffle a bit because I was just crying
And I think of you.
I close my eyes and count my breath
In for four, out for five
My nose itches
There you are again.
I feel the weight of my laptop against my knees
I tap my thumb against the track pad
My wrist hurts
Stop. Please. I’m trying my best.
I look at the time
11:26pm
I run my fingers over the keys. The i, k, o, l, m, p, t, b
Are you here yet
Oh please, come find me.

_________________________________________________________________

Renaissance Man

I spend my nights listening for a knock at the door
Hoping your lonely fist will reach out towards the chilled glass.
Wishing you would.

Thinking you meant the things you said.
That I wasn’t deluded into believing you could care.
Wanting you to follow through
So that my pillow could finally meet your head.

But yet I wait.
I’m not sure for how long.
I want you, but
I don’t want to be your second thought.

Not
Your maybes
and what ifs
and questions about renaissance.


Most Days

Some days, I can tell the story of how you got sick with poise and composition.
Other days, I imagine you smiling at me,
and I can feel tears trickling down my cheek before they’ve fallen.

Some days, I’m happy.
Happy you’re not suffering.
Happy you’re no longer trapped by failing kidneys and swollen lungs.
Others, I feel a slow, burning rage build inside my heart.
I have anger for the moments that were stolen from me.
Moments that we were just starting to have a chance at.
A relationship that we were rebuilding.

But you’re gone.

Some days, I can tough out the pain and sadness.
I can recognize the need to put my anguish aside and focus on Truman.
To fight on behalf of his happiness.
To struggle tooth and nail for each and every opportunity life has to offer him.

But, most days, I just miss you.


Mosquito Bite

You are my red, puffy inflammation
You suck my blood and leave me suffering for weeks.
Small enough not to tend to,
But big enough to affect an enduring discomfort.
You leave a scab after I cannot stop scratching at you
Indulging in the mild relief
That each drag of the nail on my skin provides.
My itchy, annoying welt.
Yet,
Every time you leave,
I always forget how cruel you are.
The seasons change
My memory dulls the pain.
And I welcome you back like the sunshine
After a long winter devoid of scratching.

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