Having a Hole In Your Being

Sometimes it’s more that you’re missing the part of yourself that was taken when they left, rather than the thief themselves. You jump every time your phone buzzes hoping it’s a message from that piece reassuring you it is safe now in hands more gentle than the ones that took it from you, that it is being put to good use. That although there was no instruction manual, it found it’s place quite nicely nuzzled in another chest. And that it misses you, but somehow feels it is better off. You look at the patchwork that is yourself and all of who you are that is bit’s of other people while trying to remember if that was ever a part of you that you had a right to let be taken away – that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Taken? Or was it ever even yours to own? You are emptier now, a little lighter. A little heavier in the parts around this now gaping hole. But hopefully the next lesson will fit nicely in that cave. Hopefully it is something the skin of your soul won’t reject. 

Selective Memory

Cut throat razors will remind me of you,

like cut throat words remind you of me.

I will remember yogurt scooping,

cake bringing, ice cream eating,

and messy room.

But how will you remember pushy,

on-time, omelet making,

and clean freak.

When you might be remembering

skinny dipping, house rules, nice bum,

doesn’t like chocolate,

and daddy issues.

But then again you might think I remember

socially awkward, baggy pants, always late,

big mistakes, you deserve more

and nice eyes.

What I know we know is special chocolate chip cookies,

stigmas, stahp, late night Wendy’s,

cry-laughing, medium double-double, 

and eskimo kisses.

Safety-pinned socks will remind me of you,

like safety-pinned seams remind you of me.