#sinwisdom

Now love scares me Opening up to lovers is my kryptonite Sincerity in the face of romance makes me shrink A sure symptom of brokenness Of pain I wish I still feared baby crabs instead.

You're trampling my thoughts less And appearing in my anecdotes more Maybe this is the final stage of grief

Stand in the morning air Let coffee cups gently burn your fingertips Stare at nothing See blue, white, brown Live the complexities of a blooming flower Detox late nights, cigarettes, wine Reminisce friendship and laughter Cleanse your mind Breathe Awaken your lungs You. Are. Here

At the beginning of our relationship I compared you to a carousel I meant to say that you were like reaching for the rings at the carousel Constantly jerking me back and forth That I was reaching desperately for you But I simply said carousel. That first poem Haunts me. It was awful, Probably didn't even make sense My emotions exceeded my ability to write functional verses I don't even have that blue moleskin notebook where I chronicled our first few months If I could read it again I could stop wanting you. I remember the struggle, The tears shed over ink, Re-reading after the first time we broke up Trying to remind myself how we were broken from the start 2 years later It still feels right Despite my efforts to see the wrong. That was the first poem I ever wrote about you. The first poem I ever wrote. I never wrote a poem about being happy with you Every poem came out of frustration and betrayal Heartbreak Titled "Open Your Eyes" and "Broken" and "I Miss You" I wouldn't dare to admit there is one called "Fuck You" Struggles of an untrained writer. Struggles of an untrained lover. I wrongly compared you to a carousel A perfect metaphor for our relationship Ill-conceived, unfulfilled Not fully formed.

But, A pinch of word choice, A dash of consonance, A heap of enjambment Maybe you'll glimpse the trembling of my night space

My fingertips will reek of our broken relationship Missed connection. Wishing to convene with you at the doorstep of this menthol Even before its embers burn out I regret it I question my intentions Knowing that I committed this act for you Even if you'll never know. I feel cleansed by the rain, But only until I breathe deep enough to feel the singe of my failure