Enough
There are only so many pieces of us
You have most of mine
Every day I love you more
And you cherish the pieces of my heart
While tossing your own to swine
I fear that soon
I'll run out of heart
And there will be nothing
For you to come home to
My love hasn't been
Enough
I thought it could save you
When you rushed into danger
And came back bleeding
I patched you
And then I bled
Rending open my chest
To give you more pieces of me
I weep not only because you hurt
But because I have not hurt enough
My road has been smooth
And yours a nightmare
Saturated in blood
The imbalance is offensive
I need to take your pain
But you will not give it to me
So I fall screaming onto love's sword
Tearing myself
Like a zealous self-flagellating penitent
I mortify my flesh
With a violent garment of love
Instead of sackcloth or horsehair
Torturing and scarring away the guilt
Of not having suffered as you do
When I have given you my last piece
When I have shed every drop of blood
Leaving only a cracked shell
Will I have loved you
Enough
Or will you still be blind
To your brilliant value
Will you still doubt
Your priceless worth
Despite your scars and broken edges
Will you still let beasts
Take you apart
Ignorant of the divine light in you
Until it is finally
Snuffed
And there is nothing left
Of either of us?
The Last Cup of Water
On any given night
in the middle of my sleep
should I have awakened, parched,
and asked for water,
you would always bring it for me.
You held it by my mouth,
took a drink yourself,
placed it on the bed stand,
and then set your head
upon my shoulder.
I would squeeze you tight,
and stroke your hair…
You always went that extra mile
to show your love to me.
In case I had forgotten
to tell you before,
‘Thank You.’
But now I look down
and see an empty pillow
where I used to be…
Watching you hold it tight
and cry yourself to sleep, alone;
‘Don’t be Sad.’
My dry scalp
which you used to dust off frantically
every morning…
still stains the pillow covers.
Traces of me,
beneath your tears,
you now hold onto
with a tiger’s grasp
tight,
as my properties are
forgotten by your senses…
little by little
every night.
You would wait for me to exit
the bathroom in the morning
overtly grumpy,
yet secretly happy
to get in a little extra snooze time,
on my account.
I would come out and gently wake you, reminding you that you were late
for work.
And now every room
is all yours,
all the time.
If I were to visit you in steam
after a bath
don’t be frightened.
Breath me in,
drink me up,
and refresh yourself.
Keep me alive.
For I do not wish to ever leave you,
I just can’t.
I am so attached to ‘us,’
that I simply cannot move on.
Perhaps one day we shall wake up together again,
and ‘the last cup of water,’
shall survive us,
as a hypothetical story.
I miss you my love
and somewhere out here
in the cold,
far from your touch…
I am alone
and I am thirsty –
for you.
Please stop crying
for someday soon I will hold you again
within my arms of light and protect you once more,
as we shall live together,
infinitely.
Nothing will ever replace your love
and your presence.
Watching over you,
Always and Forever…
Timeless
and now
Nameless.
Copyright © 1986-2017
Alan Salé
All Rights Reserved
contact: AASalehi@gmail.com
PoetryByAlan.com
The Other Woman
“Personally, I wear a bunch of perfume so the smell gets on the guys I’m with. That way the other girls know those guys are mine.”
“So it’s like how dogs mark their territory?”
“Ew. I never thought of it that way. This is totally different. My scent is a combination of peach, cherry blossom, and pina colada.”
“So you smell like peaches, cherries, and pineapple? Are you sure the other girls won’t just think the guys ate fruit salad?”
***
In high school I had several female friends who, when cheated on, would blame "the other woman" more than the guys they were dating. It never made any sense to me. You should blame the person who was unfaithful.
I never understood it in high school, but now I do. It took meeting Layla to make me see how somebody could blame the mistress.
My husband Jeff and I considered ourselves very lucky. After the chaotic jungle that is high school dating, we met each other within our first few weeks of college. Four years later we were married. Neither of us had ever cheated or been cheated on, but only a year into our marriage that all changed.
Layla entered our lives.
Admittedly, the instant I saw Layla I knew she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in real life. My husband and I were out at a bar celebrating his birthday with a few of his friends. He had went to the bathroom, and when he returned, Layla was with him. Jeff explained that he stopped at the bar on the way back and, hearing it was his birthday, she bought him a drink. Being she seemed so nice, he invited her to join our group for a bit.
A sensation I hadn't felt in years started boiling inside of me. Jealousy.
Surprisingly, the boys weren't drooling over her. They played it cool and pretended she wasn't the most breathtaking person they had ever seen. Through polite conversation, I found out that she was a social worker who loved dogs. Could she be any more perfect?
Layla became part of the gang. Jeff and I quickly began to know her better and better and spend more and more time with her. Then came the fated day of the cheating. Can you imagine walking in on your spouse in bed with a beautiful, naked woman wrapped around them?
That's what my poor husband walked in on. Neither of us had ever expected I would fall for Layla, or any woman for that matter. The conversation later that night was crushing. No, it wasn't a one time experiment. I didn't want it to be. I loved her.
So I can see why my husband doesn't blame me and instead blames the other woman. If I hadn't met that particular woman, it's possible we would still be married now. I understand why he blames her. Jeff thinks that she changed me. She didn't though. Layla just helped me discover myself.