I do not know what makes me an angry woman in the day; maybe all the shadows under my eyes only come alive in sunlight.
All the thorns I’ve swallowed over many centuries sit
in my throat, they come out like
acid poison darts in the day:
Coward. Liar. Inadequate. Selfish. Get Out.
In the night, I am a still bird, with a trembling broken wing. The breeze ruffles my feathers painfully, coaxes truth and tears and gentle goodbyes all at once.
All the roses bloom in my mouth in the night, petals brushing over my tongue,
dewdrops stinging my cheekbones:
You hurt me.
I know you cared about me, and I know that changed too.
I miss you. Did you even miss me at all?
Have we, who we were, died?
Were who were when we were with each other only alive for those moments?
We are not people anymore in each other’s lives. All we have in the end of each other are ideas, eroding as time sweeps and rounds the edges of memories into smoother rocks without edges, eventually pebbles we can hold in the palms of our hands.
We have carved away each other’s skins, hung them up like ugly coats, cut up, against the reflected painted glass windows of our hearts and stuffed them into recesses of the filing cabinet of our minds, however tight the fit, snip away the layers of complexity, sew and stitch and move each other’s parts into the discard pile .
Years later we will tell new lovers about each other, curled up around them, when they ask us, our mercurial tongues loosening, tasting the air for the kind of truth we want to tell.
“Idk, she was…kinda nuts” you’ll say and shrug. You’ll wink in that “it’s just a secret between us” way and say “haha, she knew I was a catch though. And she – well I guess I liked her at first because I mean she wrote poetry and it was…she was…interesting. ”
“Idk, he was a fucking idiot” I’ll say and laugh. I’ll giggle with a glint in my eye and say “haha, he definitely learned a thing or two from me. And he – I mean I guess I liked him at first because he was disciplined about his life and he…was interesting.”