The Breakup

I once told him that icicles are magical 
and he left them to grow on the eves of his house 
so I could stare in wonder at them.
They were there all winter 
and grew as much as I was growing to care for him.
Love isn't always slowly melting.
Sometimes it's black and blue where it hurts the most.

Three years ago 
I said that I never wanted to write another breakup poem again,
yet here I am.
I loved him still on our last date at the shooting range
where I hit 23 targets in a row, 
and missed 40,
but he still looked on like I was an action movie heroine.

Little did I know that the poems were there all along 
but in a language I did not yet know how to speak.
But I know now it doesn't matter how well I say Grace
if I am sitting at a table 
where I am offered nothing that feeds my soul.
If I knew this wasn't a fairy tale meant for me
I would have smashed my glass slippers
 and created a stained glass window instead.

In silence, it's impossible to tell what the other person 
is thinking without looking them in the eyes
and him,
he was as still as a lake morning at 5 a.m. in June.
He asked if we could still be friends.
I explained how in no uncertain terms 
that a honeybee does not dream of kissing 
the wet, sweet lips of a flower
and then settles for its leaves.

I can remember arriving at his home 
and walking in to the scent of fresh baked brownies
on the worst day ever.
Holding hands on the couch.
I could see the rose petals falling from his fingertips
from the doorway to the bedroom like breadcrumbs,
or drops of blood in a crime scene.

I can't enjoy them now without starving for his laughter.
I'm hungry for his touch
yet my mouth tastes like the slow dissolve 
of the the last 'I love you' 
that refused to leave our mouths.

I can wait for him to:
finish never ending home renovations,
take care of his health, 
focus on his promotion,
heal.

I can't wait for him to:
Grow up.
Grow a pair.
Decide that I am worth having in his life.

I don't need any more friends.

Allergic

I am falling apartI feel the pain of the love I once had for you
oozing out of my pores and it's giving me hivesI feel feelings like an emotional peanut allergyAnd you were my Benadryl

~ Cynicallovebird

As It Is

I never said I love him,
But I can tell you how liked his food not to touch
Much like everything else in his life

Perfect sheets and a chaotic kitchen island
The same shows on repeat
Accommodating but never welcoming

I never said I love him
But I can tell you where he liked to be touched
And everywhere he didn't

Orgasmic connection
Tingling brain and bits
And an absent heart

I never said I love him
But those were three years that felt like a lifetime
And I wanted to keep it as it was

~ Cynicallovebird

Monday Night Superhero

If you wish to be a warrior prepare to get broken.  If you wish to be an explorer, prepare to get lost and if you wish to be a lover prepare to be both.  

~  Daniel Saint

  One day I'm just going to get straight to the point and tell you that you give me butterflies in my vagina. 

    ~ Cynicallovebird

I once fell in love with a fisherman who kissed me quickly
and threw me overboard as if I was one of many.
And then along came him,
a sailor who knew I was the sea.

I think about it all the time.  
What I want.  
How scared and intimidated I am to go after it.  
The embarrassment of fumbling through stupid formalities of dating.  
Can't they be bypassed altogether?  
I would just rather move past the banter that has no bearing on anything meaningful 
and communicate non-verbally and maybe talk afterwards instead.
I'm only easy once.
Once,
when I'm unfurling myself in the sun of their attentions.

What surrounds me is a disaster.
What's within me is a mixture of bliss and a hint of madness
but what's in front of me,
let's just say my walls shake at the mere thought of their eyes.
Sometimes I like it gentle and intimate.
Other times I need rough and animalistic.
And being able to decipher which I need and when is part of the art of being a man.

I laid in his arms while the stars bloomed above us.
"Greetings" said my former moon up high.
I smiled to my old lover and gave him the middle finger.
He stared down and made the tides roar in his jealousy.
I closed my eyes and I found peace at the sight of the waves
because I was no longer the one who was drowning in them.

All I did was let go, let it happen.
I let a soul who resembled mine treat me as I was longing to treat them.
So the beauty lied in how he touched my skin,
as though I was more than who I saw myself as.
I have never felt so exposed;
which also begs the question,
have I ever even allowed one to see me?
He has from the first second we laid eyes on each other
and every day for seven years.

At that moment, 
I was completely consumed by sensory overload.  
I wanted to touch every inch of him, 
silently celebrating everything I see as imperfections within myself.  
I tasted myself inside his mouth.  
We saw each other in all our existence;  
fears and desires, his lust.  
His hunger to bite my neck. 
I laid on my lovers chest that night under darkness.
I still hear his heart beat when I listen closely. 

Sexual release brings such emotional resolve for me.  
He comforted me by reassuring me that he'd found peace in my mania.  
That my anxiety is a riddle he doesn't mind taking the time to solve.  
We found familiarity with each other in his depression.  

I slept soundly for the first time;
a peace came and I didn't walk away as I do.
Control no longer on my list.
I'd now just rather be the open vessel to what the universe has in store.
What a release to let it all go
and invite the peace that only a tremendous foundational plummet can bring.
Oh, and it wasn't the beautiful waves of his body
or the cosmic touch of his fingers on my skin.
It was the way they fixed their gentle stare on my face
and melted the raging chaos in the very marrow of my bones.

So now with all this vast empty space shall I free fall or fly?
For him I'd sail to the stars,
blowing kisses to the earth below,
welcoming the most beautiful demise with an even more beautiful view.

Overpowering, it overflowed from me to him.
He bit my lip and held me closer knowing I am absolutely his.
Life was calling and it would never stop
but in those few minutes his presence healed me,

My Monday night superhero.

Over

I confess that I loved you more than I let on
but you weren't ready for it
and I wasn't going to pour myself into hands
that I knew weren't equipped to hold me

Some people exist to show you exactly what isn't right for you.
I understand now that I'm separated from the situation that I was never in love with you.
It was just a manipulation of the hope that I had developed in the back of my brain
from too many Disney movies as a kid.

When you truly love someone,
you accept them for who they are,
what they want out of life.
I knew from the second I met you that you were not capable of loving me
and I accepted that
and found peace in things as they were.

I stopped wanting to be loved by you.
I stopped putting that pressure on you;
and myself.
I stopped caring if I was perfect.
You acted like you accepted me as I am.
That was a big fat lie and I knew it,
what was I really going to do?
Time with you became the break from my life that I thought I needed,
but all I found was a black hole disguised as a rabbit hole.

I found solace in not being anything to you.
That became the entire point.
The only thing I ever had to be when I was with you was "there".

There was no pressure,
because it clearly didn't matter to you whether I was or not.
I became something I didn't recognize;
and maybe I shouldn't have bent the knee,
but I can't take it back now.

Although I swear that this is a new chapter,
it will always feel like it has the same old end.
Leaving me with more questions than answers.

The warrior in me is filled with disappointment.

Trauma

One day I just got sick of hearing myself tell that same fucking story again.
You know.
That one.
The one that changed me.
The one that blew my soul out like a candle.
The one I tuck under my pillow each night.
The one I scream to at street lanterns in the creepy midnight air
as I watch the silhouette of another person I love leaving me,
also tired of listening to me tell that same fucking story.
The story I let define me.
The one that lives my life for me.
The one that won't wash off no matter how many oceans I cross to run away from it.
The story that no man can kiss away completely.
One day came.
I opened my mouth to speak and out of it came nothing.
My tongue licked the inside of my cheek and no longer tasted blood.
That was the day I stopped arriving with a ready-made introduction.
There's no 500 pound label stuck to my head anymore.