The Joy

Faith

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Up to the point- that I give up crying- put on lipstick- go out for breakfast- but have no breakfast-
sit in a corner- next to the window- sketch the Christmas hanging- on the window pane- silent immobile- walk back home- and look at them

 

The joy

 

of
realising- that I am not
moving on-
so that
the mountain

will have to

then
The mountain will have to- move its fat ass- walk heavy slow rhythmic thuds towards the cliff- with one last huge sigh of disappointment will have to jump into the sea- teal splashing all over the place- seaweed and sea creatures subdue it
Up to that point- I’m done with this life without you in it- and stubbornly refuse to move on

So the mountain will have to

So the mountain will have to

So the mountain will have to

 

 

The playboy perfect correction

Purr...

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Because someone
who read it
and knew whom
I was referring to
said
“You know he can see this, right?”
-the poem
I wrote about him
now
five years later

“Maybe he’ll call you again…”
that
once a playboy
still a playboy…(?)

So I tore it down,

I don’t want that to happen
now
I’m too old

Correction:
I think
now
I’m too fragile