Loving Less

Your once familiar voice sounds Foreign and garbled and angry it burns more Than any of the hot sorrow That I’ve allowed to sink into me For a year too long Im realizing more and more Just what species of person you are Y mira, cabron It’s a bad diagnosis- and I’m not one To deliver bad news Unless I can laugh Or unless I could unearth the vast store Of the pain you’ve wrought At a snap, at a blink, at a raised hand in defense Could I even begin to think Could I remember my burning stomach Or the shaking fingers or the ringing in my head Or how you’ve killed me a thousand times Or have I’ve damned myself, just as you said? Probably not… and I probably can’t Even when a burn gives me ash and flakes of skin A cut gives me a tool to hone my bloodthirsty nails And every reason in the world straps shoes To my tired feet Puts a shovel in my hands, and instruction in my heart To find my mouth again To find a smile and say, hey! I’ll give you what you deserve I don’t know But either way Today, I love less.