Week 10

It was obvious he was in love with her.
Every picture,
you could see his eyes soft,
you could tell that he was happy.
I read online that they broke up in 2009.
It is especially hard
going into old videos,
watching them harmonize
at the peak of their lives.
They were so in love.
And now he writes songs about her getting away.
Was he too busy?
Was she too disingenuous?
Did he kiss someone else?
Did she get tired of his shit?

I miss them, the way they were.
They were beautiful and soft.
It is no more comforting knowing that
things change for other people too.

Week 9

I can see one star through this window
in the hospital where I spend my days.
Break time is quiet
in the middle of the night,
the world is just as dark inside
as it is outside.
The air is cool and dry,
I often leave with cracked lips.
The flickering of the smoke detector in the ceiling,
if I squint, it may be a firefly.
If I squint at you,
you may be more than a dream too.
There isn't enough time on break
for me to fall asleep,
not properly,
so I lay here in the dark with my eyes closed,
waiting, watching, breathing.

Week 8

"You have cute thumbs,"
he said.

That made me smile.

Strange how we fixate 

on all the skin, scars, and body parts

that do us wrong.

Yet they notice something I never knew.

Your eyes,

your hands,

your softness,

"Like a 17th century renaissance queen," he said.

"Like a chocolate ice cream cone,"

before he ate me up.

It is good to think about while I spend another night 

on the couch, alone.