If I’m Being Honest
...the word sorry
is a piece of driftwood I keep chewing—
my mouth full of splinters,
empty of apologies
I'm still swallowing.
I love you
like a door I can’t close,
a bruise
I keep pressing just to see
if it still hurts.
If I’m being honest—
I practice leaving you every day,
hold my breath for a dress
rehearsal of living
without the rhythm of our shared air.
Every time I get almost good at it
I choke, crawl back to the phone,
I'm a house half-burned,
telling strangers
I’ve got good bones.
I promised us peace,
but these ceilings leak with memories
of infidelity and its wallowing
companion named grief,
the floorboards are waterlogged
with it. They keep whispering—
if I’m being honest,
I'm not interested in forgiveness—
neither giving nor getting it.
I just need a song that lets me sleep.
Something I can sing back to the You,
out of tune,
out of time.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
