Tell Me I’m Nothing

Only

the atrophied animal
sleeping at your ankles.

No need to chain me
to the bedpost. 

Every seduction needs only
the smallest of aches.
Every concession: my shoulder
tapping your shoulder.

My teeth
tapping your teeth.

Call me your error.
Call me your stray. 

Know that I am more than my heartache.
More than my strangeness,
more than my arms
tied up together.

You can't fix something broken
with something else that's broken.

Empty bucket. Spineless 
bird. 

Although you now know me
like a nightmare

and undress me
with your moonlit mouth,

I know it's not enough.
Sometimes
everything works out. 
But

no. It doesn't.

Please don't 
do that thing
anymore. Please

forgive me. For this
and for everything else
that's coming.

And believe I never meant 
to let you tunnel into me
like that. The way love
twists into a heart,
mercilessly. 
And keeps twisting.

I believed you when you said
you would not be gentle. 

I just thought there was nothing left
unbruised when we met. Only

my threadbare heart
crawling with larva,
brimming with ghosts. 

I thought I could take it. 

But then we got quiet. 
Eventually,
I opened my mouth.

Call me your downpour.
Call me your death.

That night, I know
I dragged you through
the gutter of this.
How could you refuse me

once you'd turned me over.
Once you made me 
your sorrow, your specter.
Your spiral staircase. Your 
cistern full of pond water.
When you said do this
and I wanted to. 

I would live here for another year 
just to feel like that again.

A sharp grip around my wrists.
Cool breath like bee wings up my spine. 

But now all I feel
is the vacuum of your egress. 
Believe me 

I have enough grief to flood the basement. 
And enough regret to burn the house down. 

Tell me, what could stay upright
in the aftershocks
of this.

Even my doorframe is now
a skewed and haunted thing.

So everything broken
keeps breaking. And we can't 
take the bones 
out
of our bodies. 
I can't unsay that I loved you. 

Now that you're gone,
the moon follows me home. 

Call me your aimless. 
Call me forgotten.
Call me your fuckup, your weakness,
your garbage.

Your favorite
aberration.
Tell me I'm nothing.

You refuse 
to dismantle this,
so I will. 

If it's harder to unlove a thing 
why didn't you just leave me
there that night

on the porch
to whimper and crawl
up the steps
alone.

12 thoughts on “Tell Me I’m Nothing

  1. This is an awesome poem. 💕💕. more ink to your pen dear.

    On Thu, Jul 19, 2018, 12:46 AM i tried to tell you wrote:

    > Julia posted: “Only the atrophied animal sleeping at your ankles. No need > to chain me to the bedpost. Every seduction needs only the smallest of > aches. Every concession: my shoulder tapping your shoulder. My teeth > tapping your teeth. Call me your lovestruck. Call” >

  2. Whatever may have been harsh, whatever may have hurt you -you’re more than something; you’re not nothing for you are someone special who will find true love one day I pray… Sometimes relationships don’t work out and you discover you’re meant for more… for better…

  3. It is a lovely poem, i can feel it. Something there embedded i see.
    Life is like this: what you have expressed through chiselled words to decorate your feelings. I have really enjoyed this. Any way, keep scribbling deep , but, beware of the tip it is too sharp sometime my hole in the paper you write. To trickle the tears you shed to wet the paper floor.

    Keep writing would love to read more
    thanks

    Regards from Nepal.

  4. You are so much more than, and could NEVER be, nothing! Your words are proof enough of that. Powerful. Emotive. Evocative. Clear. The only expletive left that bears any meaning… Wow. Great writing!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s