i.
how many times can my heart break?
I think I am in the running for some kind of medal.
I throw myself at beautiful walls
in sudden high moments of insanity, cave to those
nights you do not want to believe will ever end
unsustainable romances sustain me
sporadically. I open doors and look out at the vast worlds
they contain that I will never traverse, but I
have stood on the threshold,
And when I close the latch gently I still remember
what the breeze felt like
on my face.
ii.
I told you I was an artist and thus
I could not say that I did not like drama
because I feel everything
I explained to you a sensitivity
that I exhibit now thinking of things
(you said you were not an overthinker, and yet
you seemed to overthink). the thing most men
do not understand about me, is that this
is not meant to be read or understood, this is a form
of knowing myself of letting my feelings find
a form - I remember everything and I feel everything
and somehow I must find a way to
let it go.
iii.
I cannot believe this is happening
he kept saying to me
the words in my mind.
I sat on top of him and we laughed
because he was the moon and he shone
and he said no, Soledad, you are the moon
and you are in every pool.
You bitch you sent me the Pessoa poem.
You knew.
And he was right.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
I just didn't know that
he knew it too.
iv.
sometimes we must break ourselves perhaps
there is no other option
v.
i wait to move to the other side
i lie in bed watching the light fade from the day
and try to avoid the twisting of facts by a mind
hungry for control in the face of grief.
grief will not be controlled
(a woman dressed all in pink walks down the street)
it rears in response
you cannot tell it what to do
and it will leave when it wants to
what you can do however
is love as much as you possibly can
yourself.
