Grief Written

My car is both too big and too small, Its parked haphazardly on the side of the curb, And the house across the street is white with green grass. I'm wondering how the grass looks so green, and how the sky looks so blue, and I'm wishing the trees dotting the landscape would disappear.  Theres too much air, and the passenger seat is too big and too empty. someone should be sitting there, breathing some of this air, taking up some of this space, it's all too much. I can't breathe, But I am, a little too much. Again, I haven't learned the lesson of moderation. And my knuckles sting from hitting the ceiling, But instead of bringing me back to the present like it used to somehow I'm hurtling into the past. And I want to be anywhere but there, Maybe I should sell my car, Change my number, Cut my hair. But none of that will change what happened, and how it felt. So for now I'm holding my breath, Because I&

Whenever you write I listen, My heart has a one way connection, And I feel every word timed with the beat of it. Tell me something. Anything, Because I feel like I've been speaking for too long. I've said too much, But too little at the same time. I dont know if I'll ever be in love again, My heart is a singed forest, And at what point does the universe stop handing me matches because I've proven to be reckless? Only I can prevent forest fires. But here's to hoping that the fire that's ravaged my heart will bring new birth. I could use a little evergreen in my soul these days. Is your fire burning? Is your forest growing? In the end it's the aftermath that defines us. I'm still figuring out what to do with mine.

We often spoke about the moon, the sun, the sea. Tomorrow the moon and sun will meet for a fleeting kiss, Shedding darkness on the world for a moment of privacy, As the night and the day quietly reminisce. Then they'll have to say goodbye, Slipping out of one another's grasp, Returning to their distant love affair in the sky, Some moments aren't meant to last.

I miss you.

I whisper prayers into my pillow where you used to sleep beside me, And I grind the words out beneath my teeth. They're said in the rubbing of my collar bone, The reckless curve of my driving, And pulled through my fingers along with the strands of my hair. I hear them in the creak and the thud when my knees meet the ground, I feel the weight of them in my heart as it sinks. Each night I telephone god, and leave him a voicemail. Each night the message is the same, I beg to learn the art of forgiveness. And my body recoils at the thought of it, But god gently reminds me that forgiveness is for yourself. My body has already forgiven me for the way I abused it for your love, The scabs have all fallen away, So why do I have to bruise my knees any longer? I'm learning the art of forgiveness, And I think I'm getting closer because now I can whisper your name in the midst of a prayer without feeling like a contradiction. You brou