Because I was born,
I learnt how to breathe.
A small body with three
different names.
When we were young,
it felt unimportant.
I spent all my time
playing games.
Though I want it together,
things fall apart.
I know that it’s me
whom she blames.
If you love at a distance,
it cannot burn you.
But you cannot be warmed
by its flames.
I wake up to you
in my head.
You seem to bubble out in quiet moments.
I put on worn gloves to pull out weeds—
always growing through the cracks.
They always grow back. It’s hard
to find the roots.
It’s like that one burst orange cloud
in a sea of grey.
I wish I didn’t need you so much.
Masking tape stretches taut over stiff cardboard,
tick as it rips off the roll—exciting beginning:
Box half open
Eyes peer into clawing emptiness,
it demands fulfillment—expects it, like an
Empty heart
Bubble wrap settles between each marbled plate,
it cushions the bottom—acknowledging fragility—
Paper envelopes chipped glasses, mugs.
Suffocating?
The box becomes heavy, so quickly,
Muscles stretch, fray,
Chest burning—
You’re killing me.
I can’t create a box to put these feelings in.
My life unravels at my feet
My apathy will not abate
I dream of death and know it’s sweet
You cared for me at our first meet
But yearning love you cannot sate
My life unravels at my feet
Your burning rage I cannot beat
A sadness twisted into hate
I dream of death and know it’s sweet
An enemy lives on every street
Lies and hurt flow through each gate
My live unravels at my feet
I daydream so my soul can eat
A thousand unseen lives collate
I dream of death and know it’s sweet
I have a life you’ll never greet
These circumstances sealed my fate
My life unravels at my feet
I dream of death and know it’s sweet
of feeling
like a stain on your shirt
like a pebble in your shoe
like a thorn in your flower arrangement
like a regret
like a faulty appliance
like the cause of all your problems
like a shadow in a quiet room
like I’ve forgotten my lines
like a starving, pitiable mongrel festering in the street
like the only people safe to love are fictional or far away
the lifeline lady said she could hear me bleed through the phoneline
pity my gored face never bothered you much
I want the Doctor
I want to know what it feels like to be loved
I want my sadness to make you sad
Megan Porter Poetry