Page 103 of Poems He Wrote

Shamelessly cast aside

By rough hands of autumn winds

To sad prairies and deserts

Left alone to roam through the fog

I was your sunset in July

A tiny bird with broken wings

In the blue of clear skies

A road covered in weeds

A smell of lemon in empty sheets

“You wereeverythingto me…” I bring the page up to my lips, softly kissing the paper.

I love his words even though they are all showered in sadness and covered in hurt that I caused. I love being the thing he writes about, although I’ve only brought him pain and suffering. But mostly, I love these poems because all of them are about love. About what I meant to him… What I mean to him, still.

I can’t let this be the end of us. I can’t.

I grab the last page, noticing right away that the format of this one is different. Unlike the previous ones, this one has rhymes. I remember he once told me that none of his poems ever had any of those. He hates rhyming as much as he hates bugs. He hates it the same way he hates how much I’ve hurt him.

I can’t look at the words. Not yet. Not when I know how close to a breaking point I am for hurting the man who always put me first. My needs, my wishes, my damn selfish ways.Me. And I have betrayed him after he opened his heart and his whole world up to me.

I lift my knees up to my chest as I try to subside my whimpers, but to my avail, it doesn’t work. Not that I truly expected it to.

There is no going back and no changing the things that have happened, but I can only hope to be able to set this rightnow.

I lift the rhymes up, now wet with my salty tears, running my eyes all over it, trying to find the blame in the words, but there is none. It’s only my empty promises and an empty shell of the man I love.

You Said

You said my heart wasn’t yours to take

But I was the one ready to give it

I knew of the chances that it would break

But I wasn’t ready to see or believe it

You said you hated the way I was quiet

But I wanted to let my body speak

For you, I was ready to let go and try it

A new day, a new page, the other cheek

You said we were dirty, scarred, yet sacred

But I loved our secret nonetheless

Lying in the mess that you had created

I’m mourning the night you didn’t confess

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