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[emma-rites]

Still Waiting

The other day someone asked me why I no longer write poetry,

I told them, I stopped writing poetry the same day you left,

This was true.

That day I got an empty cardboard box,

Put all my journals in it,

Tapped it shut, and labeled it,

The things I would probably never have the courage to say,

And I didn’t,

Ever gain the courage to say them.

The year following the conclusion of that part of my life I learned a few things,

One. You cannot write things into existence.

I wrote for years about how your smile fixed my broken.

About how your happiness drowned out my sadness,

Only to be the most depressed I’ve ever been in your absence.

Two. I was not an artist because of you.

Three. You were both my muse & my greatest distraction.

Four. My poetry never really died with you.

Much like my life after you left - it just became a little

more difficult to read

Eventually, I did open that box

And I read every word; and I cried

And I was only reminded that three years later,

You were still gone

And I was still waiting

[emma-rites]

Richer without you

I thought I could break, and not be broken

I thought I could take, without giving

But that was selfish

So I gave

Everything

I think about you, the way the morning thinks of the night, and night of the morning

A promise of rest, but also,

A promise that the darkness will end

It hasn’t

I think about you the way a child thinks of 20 dollars

Like they are rich

Like they can do anything

But it is blind

No joy was bought with you

My mother once told me that love is like a soldier, it will come back, but never the same.

And to this, I bare witness, because love has come back to me, it has come back to me so often that it’s almost routine.

I think about you too often, I think

I think I have to stop and allow myself to move on yet,

Here I am

And here you are,

In my thoughts

I have thought myself into nothing

But I have also thought myself into a masterpiece

Made from the parts of me, you left behind

Not much

Maybe 20 dollars worth

[emma-rites]

Fuck your comfort

And if he cannot find a way to love me,

I wish that he would let me go.

But he holds onto me like a child that is too old for his stuffy;

I am a comfort zone,

But I will be outgrown.

Sooner or later we traded in bottled milk for bottled whiskey,

He used to be nervous when he held my hand but now he demands to kiss me down every inch of my body.

While I lay numb and wish that he would settle for a hug.

I am his, but he will never be mine.

I am the book he never thought worthily to read so I sit on his bed stand as a paper weight.

A paper weight that couldn't even hold him down.

- You were not worth the trauma

[emma-rites]

We Could Come Home

Lately, in the moments right before I fall asleep,

I see a house in the distance,

I am starting to think that maybe,

Maybe; this is the place where our love used to live.

And I think that maybe it is made up of the places we used to tell eachother, I love you

I think that the living room has a bridge, and under it water so clear that I could see your exact reaction when I said I wanted to spend the rest of our lives together,

I think the bedroom is my father’s driveway, and your car is still parked in it

I think the basement is full of boxes from the time I tried to box up everything that reminded me of you,

Only to box up everything that I own.

I think the sidewalk still has my heart on its curb, with a sign saying ‘take what you need’,

I never did get it back,

Sometimes, right before I fall asleep, I see the house and I think it still has a light on;

As if it were saying that, we could come home if we wanted to,

I wonder,

If I walked up to the door, would it be unlocked,

I wonder if you would still be inside,

In my darkest hours, I wonder if you would have moved her in

I wonder if she tells you she loves you in the rooms where I used to say that I hated you,

Where I used to argue about everything,

I wonder if in the space I created between us, she found a home

But the light,

I swear it is still on

- We could come home if we wanted to, but we don’t