I write..

what happens when we’ve got nothing left to talk about, nothing left in common
nothing left but niceties and PC conversations
No raw honesty
What now
I don’t hate you
but I can’t say I like you
I’m here because I’ve always been here
but that doesn’t have to be forever
What happens when I become dispensable
and I become neglectful?
what happens when you’ve got nothing left to share?

I thought that this would be painful, but I’m very ready to walk away.

I’d much rather be absent than invisible in your life.
Adieu mon amie, until we meet again

I wrote this poem a while ago, but it’s now got a life of its own.

I’m pretty certain I have got another entry with the exact same title.
RECIPROCATION

In an effort to assure you that I’d never dismiss your feelings requited or not. You turned around and reciprocated the opposite
dismissedmeinasinglesentencewithnocomma’sorafullstop

my work never let’s me down
stands me up
plays mind games

my work is consistent
committed
my default
my crutch
my work

that I won’t get to know you better
Felt like I had known you before
Weird.

was Valentine’s Day.
Just Got Fired Day.
Having a Panic Attack Day.
This is Not Happening Day.
I didn’t miss the chocolates, flowers or kitchy token that Hollywood defines as love. What I missed was someone to call – who would have said – after listening to my hysterical tirade about my nightmarish “Day” – don’t worry it’ll be OK. And meant it. That’s all I missed.
Oh well…

my insults are a form of self protection
I thought if I insulted you enough
left you raw and sufficiently offended
leaving very little room for forgiveness
that this drama might end

I thought if I targeted your Achilles
bullseyed your weaknesses
hightlighted your faults
in the most grotesque
in the most obscenely insensitive way
I might create that divide called
irreconcilable differences

instead it left a bitter taste in my mouth
those things I said I didn’t mean
the irreverence I showed
belies the respect I have for you
belies the respect I have
for any other human being
that walks these streets
that pounds these pavements
that takes a chance on love

you’re not the village fool
or an obtuse drunkard
I didn’t mean it when I said fuck off and die
I mean who calls people ’stupid fuck’s’ anyway?
I got lazy and went for the the cliche’s
a trusted script
a tried and tested formula

I’m sorry
about everything
about my words
I know they hurt
I meant for them to hurt
but I’m sorry either way