thursday night

i miss you. i miss you and i don't know why. i don't feel the same way, everything has changed, i'm moving on, having fun, my appetite has returned - everything's great, don't you know? my friends tell me what a great catch i am and as usual, the sharks have sensed blood in the waters of the dating pool and i am being 

circled circled circled

because how long can one delicious piece of meat splash about, arms flailing noticeably and failingly before going under? 

i miss you, god fuck, i miss you and i hate that random things jump out and remind me of you. and maybe i don't feel the same exact way and i guess a few things have changed, okay to be honest maybe i'm not having all that much fun, i wish i could just jump to being happy again and the fun isn't really fun, it's me slamming 15 shots of top shelf tequila in two hours because jesus fuck christ i want to be


i am playacting at fun. i am the greatest performer in this bar and wow, another shot? sure. why not. the ones buying don't see past my glassy boozed up gaze or the drunken grin permanently affixed, frozen like a department store's front window mannequin. no, i am giggly, jiggly, and wiggly and i may be wobbly but i can see the hunger in the looks being cast at different parts of me, the mouths splitting open so i can see the shine of the whites of their sharpened teeth, jaws ready to gnaw at me, hands to grope and paw at me and 

fuck this noise

i miss you

i miss you, your chestnut brown eyes, warm and playful in the light, but mostly sad. so sad it broke my heart every time and still does even now, as only a mind's eye glimpse into my memory chest. i miss you and i miss us and i miss what could have been an exceptional and uplifting love story. i miss making magic in my  kitchen for you, watching you enjoy every bite of so much on the plate. i miss how we wrapped ourselves around each other, legs twisted together, pressed so close we were 


i miss you, i miss you, and i miss you. 

i miss you because i love you and wow, not much has changed has it? i don't think i'm quite ready to move on, though i did give it the old college try. i can eat again but only in the tiniest of portions because sometimes my stomach decides to turn on me. nothing is great, i had to up my sleep dosage. i can't get comfortable in my own bed, your soft snoring was my white noise, i just loved having you near me, you were mine and i was yours and it was the first time in a long time that i felt so certain.

you returned my key, yet continue to live rent free in the caverns of my being. 

i miss you. i want to talk to you. i want to smash my phone to bits so that i can't contact you because i am staring at your name in my contacts, which i should immediately delete, but i can't. 

i can't

i miss you and i'm wondering if i should send you a message to see if you're okay but i know it's just an excuse.
i already know the answer is no. 
because i am not.

Recent Events

Someone commented on how I looked as though I had lost a bit of weight. They were concerned as I've not much on me to begin with. 

My cousin is a curandera and she did a deep cleanse on my apartment while I was at work. I pulled into my spot, already feeling the weight pulling me under again. She was on her way out, I rolled down the window to my car and asked how it went. Apparently, whatever was/is left of you/us has been battling viciously to stay. No shit.

"I gave him a piece of me and I won't stop fighting to get it back." She nodded and said, "I know."

She walked away and I parked my car. A spot I rented specifically for when you would spend the night. Oh well. 

I stepped into my place and it smelled of Dragons Blood, herbs, and an earthiness I could not identify. 

And I was hit with exhaustion. 

It's become a familiar reoccurrence since trying to rid myself of All Things You. The first time, I tried cutting you out on my own. The whole thing knocked me out in seconds, I could barely make it to my bed to lie down before I was asleep, heavy and deep. No dreams, only dark. 

The smoke alarm woke me up, the string I used had started a small fire. It amazed me that it dropped upon a bag of clothes meant for good will and nothing else near or around the candles was harmed. But also a lesson that I was an idiot and I should leave the spells and rituals to my cousin who was far more practiced and knowledgeable in that area.

I never believed in magic. The old ways of our ancestors, the Yaqui practitioners from centuries past, meant a damn thing to me. I believed in intention, goodness, keeping a karmic balance as best I could. I believed in science and tangibility. As a 3rd generation American, any semblance of brujeria in my bloodline had been watered down like that of ice in flat, flavorless soda and it would be silly of me to put stock in any of that kind of unknown. 

I equated it to believing in God.

Yet, I knew I gave you something when we first met. I felt it. I gave you a fragment of my essence. A slice of me intended for you to hold and keep with you, safe and loved. Since the split, I had not been right. This was no regular heart-ache. I had loved and lost ridiculously hard before, this was Not That. I knew it was something out of my scope of comprehension.

I asked for her help, almost set my apartment on fire, and then passed out. 

Lesson learned.

My cousin's magic is strong.

My home has been spiritually sanitized by someone who loves and cares for me, I am feeling well enough to eat again, and I feel the gnawing twist deep within loosening, unwinding itself. I tend to my plants, I've begun to straighten up the various messes, room by room. I miss you the way someone misses a memory. Faded, foggy, blurred by too much time gone by. Even though it's only been a few days. 

I am regaining my own strength, no longer weakened by my love for you.

Cord Cutting

I've not been able to stop. These thoughts, sentences, feelings. Not even for minutes. Even when I haven't been able to jot down every living, breathing, writhing word, they all wriggle freely in my head, against another, with another, becoming another. I try and fail to make any of it come to some sort of sense. 

In the odd quiet, I notice the quick clicks and clacks upon my keyboard.

After midnight in the city on a Friday. No sirens. No yelling. No squealing of tires echoing on the streets. Nothingness of sound.

I wish I was as void as that.

Somewhere, not so long ago, in a dream, I pressed myself against you, a soft but firm embrace and you did the same to me. Together, we fell into the waking sleep of souls connecting and the electricity of the event brought us front and center, face to face - rather, face in face, body in body, and it was the palpable just short of physical melding of something so far beyond our scope for rationale and reasoning. 

I know this was a dream because it is fading fast as the light of what used to be Us. There is no longer a We, only a Me and a You.

I am drowning in the madness of missing you. But is it that? Or is it that have I lost a part of myself and this is why my stomach turns, my head pounds, my hands shake...I am going into shock because there is an integral piece of what Keeps Me Partially Whole not in place. I would like it back, please. Pack it up, wrap it gently - or not, leave it in a paper sack or store it in a gift shop box, I could care less how it finds its way home to me. I will happily and immediately give yours to you because I aim to cut any and all cords which bind. I was not made to carry you like this, alone and without solid promise for reunion. 

I don't fool myself into believing that you are suffering the same. You have your way to escape and hide from any and all things unpleasant.

I do not. 

I have the eerie stillness of a Friday night in the city, the clock ticking, the branches outside my window rustling tip-toe soft as to not disturb the quiet, my fingers tapping away at this rant which you will never see. I have myself, my resolve, and what's left of what I thought was Real.

And I have the strength to walk away.


"We can't help that we are pretty."
"You have known this all your pretty self."
"You have been granted leniency in life because you look the way you do."

i am pretty?

i would think
i would have known this
were it the case

in fairy tales
in movies
in life
is saved
is revered
is respected

i am not 
nor have I ever been

pretty has leniency.

the old mans
shriveled fingertips
nicotine stained
rough and peeling
pretending a game
up my timid
and frightened
5 year old thighs
i should say no
but this is only a game 
and i want to be a good girl


the friend
of an uncle
who is "family"
beer breath against my neck
scratchy scruff scraping
my cheek
in a whisper...

and my 13 yo self
wants to kick him
in his gross hairy
and run away

i want to be a good girl


the entitled groping
ass slaps
tit grabs
against unwilling flesh
play dead
nerves flinching
muscles contracting
an anxious 
stifled spasm
of my soul

i want this to end
i am not


pretty has leniency

i am the malformed monster
seeking refuge
in the dark


I don't believe in god
or give credence to any religion
created by fearful men
in efforts to oppress and subdue
those they felt 
were beneath them
instilling the thought process
that all were

except for themselves

religion is not for me

I still pray

my boots
smoothly pack their prints 
upon the snow covered walk
my breath
soft, steady, serene
it would be silent
save for the gentlest sound
of my steps
as I head home

the prayer is small
a quick word with the Universe
a telepathic memo to the stars
a devotion to the moon

once I'm home
I light a candle
for cleansing
I hold the wallet-sized
black and white photo of
my great-grandmother
so close to my heart
and whisper to it
as though she were right next to me
hugging me
consoling me
reassuring me
loving me

and I murmur an invocation
"give me strength
give me patience
give me kindness"

I do not believe in God

But I believe 
in the woman she was
and filled to the brim
with all the Love and Fortitude
only a cruel life 
could gracefully gift
as penance

No weight has been lifted
Problems are problems
I know
I am still 
my faith 
certainly isn't

After all
I believe in the Universe
The Stars
The Moon
and my 

And those are far more real and powerful
than any variation
of what is being sold
as God.

The Universe Sent A Memo

This morning, my ex-husband came to pick up the kids. Ever the hospitable host, I mentioned I had one croissant left. Would he like a breakfast sandwich? Never mind that I had not eaten myself. Of course, he said yes. There I went, off to the kitchen as he sat at the dining table with the boys. And as I idly tended to the cooking and plating, I felt the strongest sadness in myself. 

This is who I am. This will always be who I am. It doesn't matter how shitty someone will treat you, you will never complain. Never fight. You will always care. You will always err on the side of kindness and consideration, like a chump. And I hated myself for that moment. I wished with every molecule in my body that I could be the spiteful and vindictive type, but I couldn't.

I can't.

I fed him. Made small talk. Hugged and kissed my kids goodbye. Felt the emptiness set in. I thought of all my exes right up to the most recent.

All the men I've loved more than they ever loved me... you're fucking pathetic. You will never be enough.

I buried myself under blankets and tried to hide from my own self.

I didn't succeed.

I went into work later that day, devoid of spirit. A fraying husk of a person. The whole evening, nothing but a handful of people. One regular, going through his own relationship woes offered commiseration. I was on autopilot. I smiled and responded with the most generic platitude I had at the ready. 

"Oh, you know. There's somebody for everybody. I just wasn't his somebody."

I was ... blank.

At some point, I realized I hadn't eaten the whole day. It was going on 9 pm. I forced myself to have a slice of pizza knowing that if I didn't, I'd get sick. The cook was rightly worried - I wasn't eating. I was always eating. Why wasn't I eating? I think I ate that one piece more to appease him than to put something in my belly.

Another regular asked if I would do a shot with him. I usually don't. Drinking behind the bar isn't my gig. But I said yes. Out of spite for myself.

I messaged a friend two short sentences. I am losing my defiance. I am losing my will.
"You are stronger than that."
I am not.
"You. Are. Sure you're allowing yourself a moment of weakness, but you are."

I didn't feel that to be true. But I knew arguing would lead nowhere and didn't bother to message back.

Then, I once again stewed. I ran through all the times I had met adversity with my chin up. Shoulders squared. The countless instances I turned the other cheek. The ridiculous amount of pain and heartache I had suffered through thinking that in the end, it would be okay. As long as I continued to put good out into the world, I would be okay.

What a fucking crock of bullshit. I felt the war within myself. The battle against becoming who I once was, who I strived to never be again. Cold, cruel, indifferent, unfeeling. 


By this point, everyone had left. It was just me and Johnny. Not everyone cares for him. He's a talker. In the grand scheme of things, he's not an angry drunk, he's almost always polite, and despite his tendency to have an opinion about everything under the sun, he has a good heart. There are far worse customers. I am not bothered by him. 

He called to me as I was cleaning, said he wanted to gift me something. He pulled that something out of his wallet and from where I was standing, it was square and shiny. For a second, I thought, There is no way this dude is trying to give me a f**king condom.

Still, I was curious and walked over. It was a flattened chocolate wrapper. It had obviously been sitting in his wallet for quite some time.

"Now," he started, still holding it gently in front of me. "it's not what it is, it's what's written on it. I'm going to show it to you and I'll leave it up to you if you want to take it. You can tell me 'No thanks, keep it' or you can have it. No pressure."

He laid it down on the bar, some cheesy inspirational quote. On a tiny piece of foil that he had been carrying with him for who knows how long. 

And in that moment, I felt my eyes welling. I swallowed to clear the lump from my throat. Quietly, "I needed this. Thank you."

He gave me a hug. Through a muffled sob, I managed to mumble, "It's been one hell of a week."

There it was. The good grace of the Universe reminding me that kindness is necessary. Compassion is key. 

I remain soft. With no intent on changing.

coping mechanisms

when i was younger
devastated me
in the worst way
i'd slip away into late night
drinking to forget
picking up strangers
just to feel
pretending they gave a shit
even though
i knew they didn't
never being able
to stand my own reflection
the morning after

times have changed
i don't find solace
in self-destruction
the way 
i once did

i suppose i've evolved

i like to read old love poems
the ones i wrote
when the future
seemed certain
and promising

i read them 
to remind myself
that it has happened before
it can happen

just because
i've always been
slow to trust
when the time came
to lower the 
many bridges
to my soul's heart

i did and
i have continued to love

always kindly.

while my stomach is sick
with the churning chaos
of another paramour
i take the time
to acknowledge
the moments
where it all felt

even if it doesn't feel that way
at the present

their indifference, my shame

i am always embarrassed
when i miss those
who don't care to 
even give a thought
of me

it's like ...
excitedly babbling
about a subject of interest
only to find
that no one is listening
or even cares
caught up in
their own self-contained

so the words,
once rainbow bright
with vivacity
slowly lose their vibrancy
colors sad
with losing life
bleeding away
into gray silence

that is what it's like

my heart hemorrhaging
prismatic poetry
to an audience

that is how i feel

i have to 
remind myself

if i knock on the door
of a house
with no lights
i shouldn't be surprised
no one answers

it does not lessen my shame

Only For You

It's been an up and down
not quite right
everything scattered
kind of a month

as usual
I weave my way 
through the chaos
not altogether gracefully
tripping over this
and a couple times

but I had a minute
and chatted with an old friend
and maybe it's because 
we travel in the same circles
or perhaps because
the universe saw fit
to summon you back
into my consciousness
we spoke of you

and I said
I wished we had never been together
because I missed
your friendship

that was enough of that
and I went about
my measured sprinting
in accomplishing
all the things
to be accomplished

and then
the cruel joke
from humorless 

a song
one I hadn't heard in almost a year
picked perfectly
its moment to

turning the still embedded knife slow in my gut a reminder that it was beautiful for a minute but also knowing with the heaviness of its truth it was not so glorious that it was worth losing a friend.

little by little

the wheels 
have been put
into motion

as the night goes long
and my fingers fidget
i laugh

i've no ring to pawn
pass on
tuck away in a small box
pushed to the back of a drawer
to be forgotten
until it is remembered
during sad
sauvignon nights

contemplation continues

there was never 
a proposal
the 'big rock" moment
joyous tears
speech impeding shock
the announcement
and following picture
to the circle of friends
oohing and aahing
the phone call
to parents
sharing the same 


just an obligatory acceptance
of wedding
the mother
of his 

i would like to think 
he loved me
i would like to believe
i was more than a
live-in maid
personal assistant
i would like to hope
that it wasn't all for 


i don't
i can't
i won't

i will keep 
churning the crank
operating the 
and tired 
rickety yet
integral to
and capable of
the shackles
which once
bound me
to him