Tag: love poetry

when i knew i was going to lose you, i thought

this is how you lose:

slowly but surely slipping, gently losing your footing

your grip slackening.

certainty is the final blow, a slow cut

across arteries, blades across flesh, bleeding.

“i will lose this”, the last words of all

possibilities as it eke out its last heartbeats

“i will lose this,” the last words of all

that could’ve been as its receding footsteps’

empty echoes bid its final goodbyes

“i will lose this,”: coffee, soda, bottles

all empty and upended and final.

this is how you close a chapter.

this how you end the story:

by losing what you’d rather not, but truth

is a liberating foe, an enemy sworn to your side

binding instead of freeing, yet somehow still

an open cage you’d rather not step out of.

this is how you lose:

in silence, in suppression, in truth.

You don’t love me, and it’s not okay, even if I say it is

You don’t love me and it’s okay.

That, perhaps, is my favorite lie.

Whenever I tell you that, I mean:

1. It’s not okay. I want to be able to hold your hand, to hold you, without holding back or wishing it is not not right.

2. It’s not okay. My heart breaks every time you mention her.

3. It’s not okay. Why do you keep running back to me if you can’t stay?

4. It’s not okay. I just really want to hold your hand.

5. It’s not okay. I love you and is it wrong to sometimes pray to whoever god is listening that you’d somehow love me back?

6. It’s not okay. You make everything better. How can I let go of your brightness?

7. It’s not okay. I wish you were here with me.

8. It’s not okay. I understand though – who would ever choose me? I am never meant to occupy a space in your heart as something more than someone who reminded you you can be so much more.

9. It’s not okay. I’ve been telling you that it’s getting difficult to not love you, but you kept me holding on. Why?

10. It’s not okay but it’s not your fault you can’t love me.

11. It’s not okay. I can’t sleep at night thinking how you would go on if I leave. I know you’d be okay. So why am I breaking?

12. It’s not okay. I know you’d leave someday. I’ve accepted that. But why am I crying?

Whenever I tell you that it’s okay, what I really mean is:

I love you with all that I am, with all the love life has left me, with all that I can, and I’m willing to give more than what my heart can take, but I can’t because it’s not the love you want or need so okay. It’s okay.