Verse

How to leave a good man

How do you leave a good man who loves you? 

How do you leave when he doesn’t hurt 

but, you hurt nevertheless? 

—when he holds you 

but, you keep falling right through his chest? 

—when his words cradle 

but, don’t cause earthquakes? 

—when his promise is a fortress 

but, all you want is home with oceans and skies rushing in through doors and windows wide open? 

—when his love, only loves 

but, does not see. 

—when you know he will stay after breakfast 

but, he will never dwell your secret wells. 

—when he looks at you 

pleading, 

but, you remain a jagged mountain 

because embracing only makes things worse. 

And hope, is only as foolish as fear. 

 

So you stay hard, 

you stay ugly; 

and you let your life get blown along the currents of Venus and Mars 

while the rest of them throw rocks at your feet, hoping you will get back in line, 

or run. 

 

But, you stay still. 

 

You leave him. 

 

Because, if not, 

he’ll be the death of you 

and worse, 

you, of him.

                                                                                                                                            

Image—Lilith by Josh Brandao

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Verse

Because we’re all satellites

Because we’re satellites

set free in motion by the want of life,

 

we drift,

we encounter,

we love,

we fall under.

We collide,

we cry.

We drift apart,

and fly far out

until the leagues in between 

dissolve the ugly,

and aurify the pain.

 

Gold.

Wordless.

Honest.

 

When the satellites cross again—

as if by chance,

as if new,

as if it was meant to…

 

As if.

 

Until then.

                                              

 

Image—Orbit by Kate Banazi

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