Lost

want me to believe
that the emptiness will go away
that it will get better
easier in time
but this pain
the pain that stretches
from the back of my neck
to the tip of my tailbone
tells a different story
this pain
has paralyzed me
i am numb
but my heart
still feels so much
pain
disdain
for myself
how can i believe this will get better
and every picture makes me wish
i never wrote that letter
better?
even the weather says differently
rain, tears of angels
did they lose him too
rain
drops
tapping on my window
sill
silly me
i wish it were him
separation anxiety
separation
apart
a part of me gone
and Lord knows i long for it
long for him
deny myself
easy to read
easy for them to say
while i lay
tear stained face
face it
its only been days
but
i miss the days
every one
everyone can see
that without him
i am not me

Love Trap

Screaming match

no one's talking, spent

mouths sealed like a love letter

kissed,

sent overseas

it would take an army to open your lips

zipped

and though even zippers break

through your lips

not even air escapes

not a breath

no sigh of relief

grief

hair thinning

head spinning

and this

is

just

the beginning

entangled

in this love for you

and I'm sure

you've never felt a love like you do

a love

like this

but

loving you is making me weak
speak
to me
yelling at a brick wall

in a maze

like a lab rat

and I still find you

amazing

That Feeling

shivers

body quivering

at the slightest thought

of you

things you make my body do

unnatural

factual

your eyes look in me

seeing the best in me

the worst in me

let this be

butterflies

when I look at you

love the things you make me do

natural

feels so right

sitting in the dark

loving you in the moonlight

And We Made Love

worst enemy

best friend

best poet

high expectations

trying all she can to make him climax

explode his ink

onto her paper

tied together by what tears them apart

a heart

a pen

a paper

crumpled together

between the thighs of an innocent girl

beautifully corrupted

by a poet

fiddler on the roof

proof

that she has learned something

however minute

the hours at Sine Qua Non

grew in two

years of

nurturing the writer

she is finding her voice

a strong whisper

between these sheets

of paper

©Tia Clarke 2012