allmymetaphors

At night,
when the party is over,
we stumble home like drunken toddlers
stopping for milkshakes on the way.

You say
that we should stop by my house
instead of parting. I do not know your middle name

but I agree anyway. I do not know the day
you were born, or how you like your coffee.
I do not know how your skin tastes,
but I am willing to learn.

And then,
it is small talk on the sidewalk,
touching on my porch steps,
short breaths,
slight death.

And then, it is my bed,
and in the dark I can pretend you are
someone you aren’t. It is wet. I am shaking
trying to feel something
beyond my body. I do not feel small here.

I feel fear. I feel limbs bent back
by childhood debt. Death trap.
I feel flesh, blurred breath,

I feel forcing myself to moan
when you touch my breasts.
My friends say that this is the best
it gets. I feel lips against hips
and broken wrists.

And it’s over.

I put a sweater on. I ask you to leave.
And now I am drunk,
and pleading with a god - I do not know
where you were born. I do not know
if you know that I am more than
a pretty face and small hands and a waste
of precious space. I do not know
if I will see you again, or if I want to.

The milkshake is a puddle on my floor.
I hear the door slam
and your car pull out of my driveway.
I am alone again,
worried you did not think I was slim
enough, worried I am not tough,
worrying I will never be touched tenderly
by another man.

I pull out strands of my hair.
I wonder what parts of me
you have taken.

My Last 10 Kisses Have Felt The Same; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)
loveandpalmtrees
She moved on and I feel sorry for you, because she overlooked your flaws, your temper, your selfishness, your inability to love anyone but yourself. She could have anyone in the world, but she still chose you every time. All you are now is a crease in her past, a scar on her chest, a memory that fades faster than a photograph of you in a sealed box, hidden. Maybe now she will fight for someone who loves her, instead of someone who sucks the life out of her, never satisfied, even with her beating heart in his greedy hands.
mostlyfiction
1. The day you left
was the day I thought
that I could not continue
living if it meant
living without you.

2. On the second day
of your prolonged absence
nothing seemed worth
doing. Not as long
as you were not doing it
with me.

3. On the third day
I realized there would be
no sign of your return
and that I would have to
keep going. Even if
that meant going on
without you.

4. On the fourth day
my hands finally had
the strength to open the
blinds and to rid of
everything that reminded
me of you. It was difficult
and it took me most
of the day to be able to
push all of the memories
beneath my bed.

5. On the fifth day of living
on my own, I worked up
the courage to tell all
of our friends what had really
happened. How you just left
one morning without looking
back, or even locking
the doors. They haven’t
heard from you since.

6. On the sixth day
your best friend asked me
out for coffee, said he knew
where I could find you.
I said I didn’t want to know.
I would rather have you
lost than to know you were
out there somewhere
without me with you.

7. On the seventh day
I woke up to a still empty bed
and when I rolled over
on your side I could no longer
feel where your body
used to lay.

8. On the eighth day
I took all of your belongings
to the end of the driveway
for the trash man to take.
I didn’t care if you still
wanted any of it.

9. On the ninth day
you texted me, and it took me
half of the day to summon
the courage to even open it.
Inside it read, ” I still love you.
I’m sorry. Please, let me
come home.” I never replied.

10. On the tenth day
I changed the garage
combination, the locks on
the doors, my telephone
number and the color of my hair
that you loved so much.
You are no longer welcome
in my home, in my head
and in my heart.
"It took me 10 days to get over you," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)