I knew you would leave.
I wish it could have been when I hated you.
I wish I could go back in time and break my phone
before your first call,
before I learned the texture of your name,
and how to call it like music,
like lighting a lamp.
I knew you would leave and my insides knew you would leave,
but my skin held them all tight inside and wouldn’t let them speak,
while my mouth practiced smiles like tying shoes,
all knots and sloppy loops.
And if I tried too hard for too long
what else could I do?
The devil doesn’t promise to break your heart,
he just shows you a list and every name on it is yours
and that must mean you matter…..
I knew you would leave and the air tastes different
now that I’m not sharing it,
and the sounds you make not being here are sharp
and my insomnia rises each night and walks about
and my mouth is too tired to practice anymore,
and I sit in all the spaces where you aren’t
but cannot fill them and they hang there
I have no spaces left to offer.