Too many days, I've been afraid of love, love, love, love, love

I was lying on my floor today
felling the rough

hardwood
on my back and bare shoulders.
You are the celing above me.
You are the vent near my head.
I am an area rug

with eyes.
I am a lump a bump a
girl who won't jump
and it's raining cats and dogs
right outside my window
as this hump this bump
rolls to examine
a scratchy bit of the floor.
It's August, can't you come out to play?
I promise to be good,
promise to be-
bump
We could stay in the shade-
Lump
We could not saying anything at all
We could be as silent as
the shade
As the rug, as the celing.

 IT IS NEVER TOO LATE
TO BE WHAT YOU
MIGHT HAVE
BEEN
- George Elliot

When a heart breaks, it is not a sudden, defined, SNAP; a clean break into two neat pieces.

No.

It's a gradual flaking and chipping.

And some flakes get lost.

And some are never found, so that when you try to put it all  together again, and start anew, there will always

always

be a little something, off,

everytime.

Susan Minot

"I wanted a life beside him,
he handed me my coat"

"I could eat tin, I'm so
hungry and light.
Could eat these words
I write"

Simply, you make this all

simple.

So I can lay my weapons

at your feet.

Which you stare at

but do not see

for the dance they

could be.

Would I that I could

hide them under my bed.

My sarcasm, my coldness,

My realism, my sexuality

my need for

definition.

My need to always know

who what why when

more.

I am as a part of you
as your pinky nail

and as forgotten.

as easily misplaced.

you trim me

maintain me

neglect me
then cut me down again

when i get too long

and large and

in the way