Walking towards Dignity.

When he’d asked

Me if I wanted to

Give us another

Chance, I had the

Weirdest premonition.

This was a

Conversation we

Have had many

Times. My answer

Never changed.

Not the kiss I didn’t get.

Not the flowers not meant

For me. Not the sorry

I never heard. My heart

Was too young to

Die. I told him to

Fuck off and walked

Towards dignity.



A Story to Tell.

And when they

Ask why when

She opens her

Mouth she only

Spills poetry,

She replies,

“My Heart broke

One too many times.

Now every piece has

A story to tell.

Poetry gives the story




What Heartbreak looked like.

When I’d told her I understood, I’d lied.

I hadn’t any idea what heartbreak looked like.

I hadn’t known looking into the mirror

Looked like staring at a corpse.

I hadn’t known heartbreak looked like

A decaying mass of red in the cavity

Where your heart is supposed to be.

I hadn’t known what heartbreak looked like then.



What if?

I often wonder about being honest.
What if for every question they ask,
I give them a real answer?
What if every time they ask
How I am faring without them,
I tell them I am not?
What if every time they get drunk
And call me saying they miss me,
I tell them I do, too?
What if?