Email Poem

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Personal Note:
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Poem
It was 3AM.
I had too many cups of rum and I wanted to hear your voice
before I fell into a drunken stupor. 
You didn't answer my two FaceTime calls or texts so
it got my mind to racing, was our love ever real to you at all? 

Your love was...
                            Press on nails 
                            Eyelashes that I wore to junior prom
                            WWF (this broke my heart too) 
                            Taco Bell's beef
                            Government cheese 
                            Diamonds that bling but not worth
                            a thing at appraisal, gold chains 
                            that turn your neck green, leather 
                            boots that turn out to be polyester, 
                            Louis Vuitton bags, bootleg movies....On the contrary my love was 

Those blood diamonds that you go to war for, those 
Ideologies you get stoned for, those truths you get burned for, 
those faiths you get nailed to crosses for-staple my hands 
to a cross and I bleed reasons why I believed in you over and over. 
I was a martyr for love. 

I was a masochist, 
the harder you hurt me, the more I craved you, 
the more I needed you to love me how I loved you. 
Maybe the love was never real and I clung onto
my own illusions...Or 
   
                                  What about the way you called me baby rang from your lips, or
                                  the way our fingers would intertwine, merging like expressway 
                                  lanes-I guess we were on the fastest route to heartbreak- 
                                  Or what about the way our bodies would mesh, sort of like 
                                  melting chocolate, your butterscotch and my mocha combining 
                                  to make a new flavor. 

Was any of that real? Because my love for you was deep, 
I was never afraid to drown in your currents, come up for air, try again, 
be engulfed in you. Every moment was precious like picking seashells at the 
bottom of the ocean. You never even attempted to remove your floaties and move from 
the shallow waters for me. 

Nothing is a fake as the expectations you impose and the lies and the promises that 
they can fulfill them...
                                
                                and nothing is as real as that heart sinking feeling, 
                                drunken with disappointment, kamikaze mission colliding
                                right into your chest-How can I feel my heart beating and 
                                breaking at the same time? How can these emotions be
                                erupting inside of me while you either feel nothing or everything? 
                                Does it even pain you? 

Even fake flowers can appear real. I wouldn't know how to spot a counterfeit dollar if it was in my hands. When did I realize that I was walking around with a fake purse?

                               But do you know what else is real? The memories and moments, 
                               the time that we can’t take back. I can’t remove your kisses from 
                               my collarbone or the way you held my hand at the train station as 
                               if you didn’t want to release me, the look in your eyes as if you 
                               wanted to say something but something was repelling you not to. 

Maybe your love for me was real in that glimpse of time, in that freeze frame moment, 
just not in the way that I needed. We can’t get that back. Can we? Maybe?
Why would I want to? Why would you? Maybe?…
                                                                                   Wrote the text that I never sent.
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