Tag Archives: ache

See, the problem is..

We are not one species.

We are two species –
men and women.

We may look and
sound like each other.
but we are nothing
like each other.

Not even close.

But this is the fucking thing:
we fall in love.
Or what we both call love.

With two entirely
different meanings
beyond the realms
of language.

Love is the elephant in the room.

And we are
like two blind people,
groping at it, trying to
figure out what the
fuck it could be.

All our fucking lives.


All that is unsaid

‘ You know, I am a fan of
your poems, right?’ She asked,
her bright eyes glinting.

I am a fan of your existence,
I wanted to tell her.

Of your bipolar conversations,
your dyslexic plans,
your warm honey voice,
your young-boy hips.

Of  the way
you care too much
or not at all 

Of the way you kiss
and the way
you walk away.

Of your fierce gypsy spirit
and your ability to conjure
flowers and butterflies and
lush green things.

Of your love for animals and
your distaste for people,
your funny feet,
and your easy laughter. 

But all I managed was
‘Thank you so much’


Don’t do this.
Don’t give me hope.

Despair is the glue
that’s holding
me together.

It’s easier to breathe
when it’s routine.

Don’t talk to me
about rainbows
as I stand here
shivering in the
cold rain.

I don’t want to know
how warm it’s in your
arms and where
your smile ends.

It’s cold in here but
I am used to it now.

I don’t want to
know which songs
make you cry or
how you look

Nothing lasts.

So let’s not start


I was a train wreck.
You were a car crash.

Two disasters.

Yet it was good we met.
We were good for each other.

Like two negatives
making a positive.


The impossible
love of the damaged.

You slapped some
sense into me.

I shoved some
calm down your throat.

We fixed up each
other up as best
as we could.

Helped each
other stand.

Helped each
other walk.

And walked away
before we ruined
each other.

The final act of kindness.

Phantom pain

When we lose
a part of ourselves,
cleaved from us by
the sharp sword
of time, we never
become whole

We wander the earth
looking for something
to replace that loss.

Something that
makes us whole again.
Gives us meaning.

Nothing fits.

And the pain
Is the only proof
that we were
happy once.


Of course, I have
forgotten you.

Forgotten how
you smiled when
you caught me
looking at you.

Forgotten our lips
made raw with kissing.

Forgotten the
heat of your body
against mine.

Forgotten our
fierce arguments
and even more
fierce making up.

Forgotten your music,
your laughter,
your lilt of your sweet voice,
the brown oceans
of your eyes.

I’m brilliant at forgetting.

Practice makes perfect.


My wife bought
tickets for us all,
for a Sunday morning
magic show by a man
who calls himself
‘The Mentalist’.

I know. I know.

But if you are seven
months pregnant
you get your way
in pretty much anything.

‘What’s a mentalist?’
asked my eight year old.

‘Someone who can read
other people’s mind.’
said his mother.

‘I don’t wanna go then.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have
secrets in my head I
don’t want anybody
to know’

My teeth ached
from a sudden,
desire to bite him.

Anything that sweet
is totally edible.