To my goodbye

I stood and stared at the gate

But you didn’t come out

Did you want me to just wait?

Well -- I just sobered up, but I guess I didn’t get the clue

So I followed after you

What a waste of my boundless giddy gait

Do you remember what I always told you?

You don’t choose who you fall in love with

But who you stay in love with.

Skinny dipping in drizzled april daylight

Sad handjobs in a deep blue subaru

It was love for me

Was it love for you?

Oh I do love you so

In time I’ll let go

Should have been months ago

What a waste of my boundless giddy gait

Self-care is not a face-mask in the bathtub

Although sometimes it is

It's going to bed at 9:00pm because that is what is good for me

Although sometimes 7:00pm is better

It's not binging on American Horror Story alone at night

because that shit is fucked up and makes me want a cigerette

Self-love is not eating whatever I want

Although french fries are necessary at times

It's eating food that makes me feel good, full, and healthy

and does not make my body swell and flare

To know myself is the first step in every direction

To know what's good for me is the next

Whatever provides true joy is the answer to "where do I go from here?"

Self-love is not giving myself whatever I want

It's giving myself whatever I need

And I always need joy

Who am I for myself?

Am I a rusty nail lyng in a forgotten corner;

Am I a questionable counselor only brought to life by the need of comfort;

Am I a lazy maid whom only works to prove she works;

Am I a chipped support beam only brought into fruition by the presence of others?

Who am I for me?

Only me.

Am I a dim candle only lit when there is someone in need of light?

Am I an observer only relevant when others are to be seen?

Who sees me?

Who is my observer?

No sight to motivate me but my own

I ignite myself when left unlit

I cleanse myself when left alone

I observe myself in the omniscient to feel the warmth that is to be seen,

To be known.

Is that enough?

Definitely not.

Am I selfish for such thoughts?

Probably yes.

But how else am I to stay hidden and free?

I love you. And love isn't love without mess.

Remember that night when the clouds wept on us? While we slept, they wept on our wooden steps, our rubber boots, and the volvo we drove to California last spring.

It was so cold. Our sheets were so scrachy, covered in lint. And you refused to turn on the heat. Sitting in our volvo, heat blasting; you, still in bed, cold toes and a runny nose. I prepared to drive through the snow on a kleenex conquest.

How sweet you looked. I knew you'd wake soon and see what the clouds had left us, I bet you smiled, exhaled slightly through your nose.

My rubber boots kept squeaking at me and I drove so slow I actually noticed our neighbors.

I wonder if they know, if they've noticed us.

I came home for you. Can of soup and box full of tissues from the Bartells.

I ate alone and used the whole box that night.

Love isn't love without mess, and I haven't cleaned our room since you left.

Someday I’ll wake up, rub my eyes and cheeks, I’ll drink some water, my feet will touch the floor, I’ll look at myself in the mirror and say I’m beautiful, and believe it.

But not today.

Someday I’ll wake up and I’ll get my shit together, and eat breakfast at a reasonable hour. I won’t get bloated by 3:00pm and I’ll actually take a quick shower.

But not today.

One day I’ll wake up and my body won’t hurt. I’ll get out of bed and rest hesitantly on my feet, rejection will not take over and I won’t have to hide my limp.

But not today.

One day I’ll let myself weep and not feel embarrassed. I’ll allow my grief to be seen and be heard as it wishes it were.

But not today.

Today’s the day when I’ll say tomorrow, and naive as can be, I'll believe in tomorrow.

But not today.