So I bought some sexy underwear yesterday.
Not the ones pictured. That was just Rena and I being silly. I did buy some very cute ones for real. But won’t post those, heh.
The Blooming of Madness poem #215 written by Christopher Poindexter (Available on Etsy. Link to buy in my bio.)
For sale on Etsy: “Their tears were their love poem 9” (Link to buy is in my bio) #humanity #rights
The Universe and Her, and I poem #212 written by Christopher Poindexter (Now selling on Etsy. Link to buy is in my bio)
i don’t think that you listened
when i told you i didn’t really remember
how to love anybody anymore.
i think you didn’t realize that people are not
projects to work on, victories to show off,
hobbies to distract you from yourself.
and i don’t think anyone has ever treated you
like this: like you are damaged, and
you must be handled with care, and
there must be a label on you to tell
everybody that when you say ‘i’m okay’
you are lying. this is not how love works.
if i could, i would explain to you
that you are not supposed to put me back
in one piece. i was never broken anyway.
you are not supposed to solve me because
i am not a puzzle, and i never made sense
when i was put together anyway.
you are not pills in a bottle, and you cannot
fix me because i am not a faulty vcr.
i am not a certificate of achievement or
a medical miracle to add to your files
and talk about to everybody you know.
you don’t get prizes for loving someone
who can’t begin to love you back.
ask her what she’d like to have for dinner. feel your eyes glaze over as you wonder if there is somebody who asks me these questions. kiss her mid-sentence because you can’t stand the sound of her talking about anything anymore. let her think it’s just because you can’t stand to not touch her, to not kiss her cranberry mouth. tell my best friend that you miss me. tell him not to tell me. hope that he tells me anyway. tell her you love her in the aftermath of sex, sweaty and undone with her arms around you. hope that saying it out loud will make it true.
when she leaves for work the next morning say my name into the emptiness of her furnished two-bedroom apartment. hear it echo through the doors, like the walls are throwing it back at you.
call me when you know i won’t pick up. tell her it’s your mother when she asks who you’re trying to talk to in the middle of the night. you both know it’s a lie. let her believe it for as long as she wants. occam’s broom couldn’t sweep this under a rug.
so when she tells you she is leaving, let her. pack her bags for her. feel nothing. watch the shadows shift their shapes into the darkness of your room. hear the sound of my voice on repeat inside some broken down machine in your head.
call me when you get this. call me if you don’t. you will forget the heat of your skin pressing against mine. i will forget the names of the places we have been. we will not forget what it felt like to love each other with the warmth in our bones. we will not forget the sound of the silence kissing itself into our veins.
we will be more than love ever thought we could be.
I shall have my wings.
LOVE COLORED HAIR!!