part 4: VOICEMAIL

 Hey, I was just calling to ask if you got home safe. I know it’s Saturday at 3 am and we haven’t spoken in months, I just got a hunch that you were going out and thought to ask. and yes... I know it’s been a while since I’m the designated one. I am fine, thank you for not caring. It’s been a long time I think I’m finally healing but then I get this urgent feeling. I want you to know how I’ve been doing. When you think of the bigger picture. Maybe it is for the greater good that you haven’t called. But I just wish you’d done already. I came to that bench that used to be our spot by the park. How you called and we never asked where should we meet. Our hearts led. I found a lot of things to look forward to. My best friends’ birthday, my newborn niece, the re-recording of a favorite album of mine… but in all these circumstances your shadow lingers. I still save you a seat during the holidays. I still send your Fathers way a gift on Xmas. Although I know you changed address a long time ago. You flew. I see us. in every problem I get to know about other couples. I picture you in my head. What would I have said if I thought this through? Why didn’t I leave when I still had it in me to begin with? So many questions in my head I’ll never get an answer to. But I deserve someone who will listen. Voicemail again. Are you okay? Did your bruise ever fade? Did you ever buy those headphones you so desperately wanted? So many questions I never got the chance to ask. Poems written by my own hand. In between each Voicemail. I remember it all. How you said you’d call. You’d return one out of the thousands of calls I have made. It always was a one-way ticket to you. I never came back the same.

November 17th, 2021

grief

 I grieve and grieve and grieve

And feel every feeling there is

Trapped inside my ribs

I cry and try to get it out of me

But grief clings to me like a disease

Some days I wish I could rip me open.

 

I write, I cope, I let my heart feel every feeling there is to exist

Until my head has to intervene and tell it to 

either swallow it down or spit it up

but either way, let's move on.

grief like a keychain inside my pocket

I carry it wherever I go

It doesn’t grow tired of haunting me

And it doesn’t get scared.

 

The same way your body dug a hole in the mattress we used to share

your presence 

dug a hole in me.

I try to put into words

feelings I've buried

but naming doesn’t help

I still hope for you to be

the one I tell my good news to

but then I take a look at the person you're becoming

and see nothing but a stranger

that I share memories with.

 

I keep trying to write in your name

apologies that are never sent

cuz you don’t mean them

never mind, addressing them

I keep asking my own self for forgiveness

 

Out of all people I lost

I miss myself the most

Out of all the wakes I skipped

I regret not paying my respects

To my old self

 

For Halloween this year I am dressing up as someone you honestly care about. So what perfume does she wear? Do I need to cut my hair? 

All's well that ends.. well, bad.

Today I visited the cemetery
Where our love rests
6 ft under
Nonchalant lands.

It’s been so long, even trees started to grow around
But nothing flourished from the barren ground that covers it.
Nothing ever did
Not love, nor trust
Not a relationship.

It told me that even underneath
It hasn’t rested in peace
I had such hope for it.
Some nights it haunts boys
That never make up their mind
Just like you never did
And it haunted you for the rest of your life.

somehow the memory
looks like me, dancing alone
“Everyone is moving on and life doesn’t stop... maybe you should too”
Maybe I should too.

My heart, the soil
Your words, much needed water
a serious drought
You ain’t coming... back
At least to claim what’s yours
At least to return my pride.

You wear your conquests around your neck
#1 in destroying girls’ hopes
and there’s where my pride hangs on.
Bury the hatchet but I keep a map to where I put it.

What for was all about?
The mouse, the cat, the hunting
The car, the parking lot, the racing
The lovemaking, the passion, the longing
Alls well that ends, well... bad.
________________________________________________________________________
I kept visiting the grave
Until one day
I had to remind myself:
Nothing ever resurrects
not people, not love, not relationships.

So maybe it’s okay if my wounds stay open
Some things are meant to stay that way.
Poems stuck into my brain
like tattoos into the skin,
I can't wash away promises engraved.

And maybe it’s okay if I sleep alone now,
no one ever returns 
even if they come back.
How many times can you visit a tomb?
Before you realize: It’s too late.