Poems

I think we love differently,

and that’s why we fit together.

a thousand broken, shattered pieces

that upheld the grey weather.

You loved like the sun,

brilliant and golden

I loved like the moon,

sorrowful, a burden.

Where your rays light up a room,

mine only cut through a kind of gloom

that comes from the heart—

you’ve always loved fully,

but I’m only learning now to start.

But the sun and the moon share the time of day,

a harmony, a symbiosis,

a rustle of words, they say.

The asters chase themselves down

loving hard, put apart,

till they run themselves

to the ground.

my poor aluminum heart

shiny and steel-like

but easily taken apart

crumpled like a fist of grass

trampled under the thunderstorm

that had passed

and though the rain had gone away

my poor aluminum heart

is here to stay.

can I replace it?

my friends have ones of silver

and gilded ones of gold,

and oh the tales that they unfold

spun from the pureness

of their non-aluminum hearts,

crafted from kindness and joy,

all I need is a start:

a spindle of hay

I can weave to be gold

the shafts of moonlight

and stories untold

no?

that’s yours?

but do you see it now?

where all my friends have gone away

it’s just me

and my poor aluminum heart

who is here to stay.

but I’ll craft a new heart

and meld it from the fire

made of my pain

and my new desires

I’ll craft a new heart

not made of aluminum

Would you like to see it?

it’s right here

dead in its new home

blackened and broken

and made of stone,

ruined by my tears.

by not reaching out,

by leaving me stand

this heart was ruined

by your own hand.

so until you feel another way,

it’s me, and my poor, broken heart,

that is here to stay.

she wakes at dawn

when the sky is painted gold,

and pink,

to dress in drowsiness.

she doesn’t remember when it started,

when her cheeks became so pink,

when her heart grew unsteady

whenever she tried to think,

but

now instead of colouring them flush,

she drains the colours from that blush

to keep and hide away

lest someone see it and say

her thoughts, spill them aloud—

no. that couldn’t be allowed.

so now she wakes two hours earlier,

when the sky is painted blue,

to carve her cheeks and chap her lips

and give off less than she might give

so no one would see it and then ask

how her glow had grown so fast

why her heart beat unsteady

over something that she wasn’t yet ready

to know.

but instead of stifling it,

as she wished,

the glow grew and she began to know

the hurt that followed,

the cramps and aches

and loving pains

that carved out her heart

and gleaned her happiness

a constant rain.

until when she tried to cover it

someone noticed

the flush that couldn’t be missed,

under her disguise,

the hope that grew in her eyes,

the stabs of knives in her heart,

every

single

time.

she stifled that pain.

till it went away,

but to this day

something faint stays

the pink glow that was stolen from the sun

the love in which she is the only one.

I think the clouds turned grey that day

the very last week of may,

when the roses bloomed to touch the sun

and children screamed and laughed of fun,

and I

screamed too.

I don’t think you think of me,

not, at least, in the ways I’d like to believe,

a whisper of joy long faded

but instead like a red balloon, deflated,

but I

think of you.

do you remember how it turned

so sour, a feeling unearned

by you but I couldn’t seem to fix

the dreams and screams and your transfixed

eyes that

turned so blue.

and now it’s been twelve years

since may, twelve years of tears

all frozen by the time in which

those tears have crystallized and since

that glimpse

of you from the skies

I’m

starting to crystallize.

can you apologize

for all the times I’ve cried

because the only friend I had

moved on

can you apologize

because I will

it’s been twelve years

and I am sorry

for the pain and loss I may have caused you

it’s been twelve years

and I am sorry

because while you’re over it, I cannot bear to live anew

so I’m stuck here

and you’re stuck there

friends of friends but in Hell

can you bear

to watch them fade

the last remnants of my life

into the air

as you forget.

don’t forget.

it’s been twelve years

since that may

so now, without delay

here is my apology

I’m sorry for the pain I caused

and I see it from your eyes

it would crush me

if you had died on me.

so I am sorry for my death.

an apology, from me,

twelve years to late from that least breath

twelve years too late from that balmy,

hot spring

when the roses bloomed to touch the sun

and I really did die of fun.