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Julie Bonenfant Poem
It was fire.
Brought to life by a single spark.
Desire.
All consuming, all assuming,
and never letting up.
We found passion, compassion, forgiveness and joy.
We found empathy, and loyalty, and lips that we could taste.
We found a dream so lifelike that it felt like we could touch.
I found the man I learned to love – and that I’d love too much.
We found vices in each other
Found triggers in each other
Found fear in one another
And it wouldn’t let us go.
You'd always swear the pills were done.
I’d hide the whiskey on my breath.
Set aflame with love and lies
And it was burning us to death.
Life fell apart around us
As we were clinging to the dream.
I clung a little harder –
We were splitting at the seams.
We tried so hard to wish it true.
That love was just enough
To stay inside this fragile world
The two of us had built.
We built the walls with tears and rage,
And sex, and drugs, and hope.
Afraid to turn another page
for fear the plot had killed us off.
I rotted from the inside out.
You rotted from the outside in.
So afraid to fix ourselves
That we ignored a dying love.
It was snow.
Cold and hollowing.
When I laid our love to rest.
And beside it I had buried
A man I’ve never met.
A child I never had
A ring I’d never wear
A life that was a dream
And a love that wasn’t there.
Copyright © Julie Bonenfant | Year Posted 2016
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Julie Bonenfant Poem
Tobacco stained fingertips
Bringing whiskey to her pretty lips
Begging for another slip
“Just one more time and then I’ll quit”
She tries to keep her racing mind
From seeing his smile all of the time
Hiding her bottles and swearing she’s fine.
Love is harder than whiskey, sweeter than wine.
She seems to find him everywhere.
In the taste of her coffee, or the brisk autumn air.
In the earliest mornings, he’s laying right there.
At the bar on the corner, when a man strokes her hair.
In every single one night stand, in every single touch
In every single drunken night, when the anger is too much.
In every unreturned phone call.
In every single kiss.
There’s a memory of a memory.
One she’ll never seem to quit.
Copyright © Julie Bonenfant | Year Posted 2016
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Julie Bonenfant Poem
I hate it when I think of you.
With no consideration of my schedule, or the details of my life.
Just as inconsiderate as a memory
As you were when you were here.
At first it’s unintimidating – a fleeting image.
Passing by innocently like a pedestrian at a crossway.
And then there comes the pain.
A sense of longing in the wake of a smile, in a laugh, in a crinkle of the eye
In the bundle of bedsheets that used to wrap around our ankles
Laying in that bed for hours.
I'd read both of our horoscopes
and you would watch the news.
The same bed where you told me
you loved me
for the very first time.
In the joke you told that wasn’t funny then
But makes me smile now.
And it hurts like hell.
No need for pretty words or thoughtful images.
Just hurts like hell.
And then there comes the anger.
Of the times you stood me up
and the drugs you never stopped.
In the way you couldn’t love – and how I gave you all I had.
In the way you’d steal my pills
And every single lie
In the photos you would always hide
And how you never valued me
How you got better once I left
And for a while, I got worse
How I had to go and save myself
When I saved you 1000 times
And then there comes the sickness
filled with hate and vengeance
You never once deserved me
And I stayed for far too long.
And I take a drag and let
myself feel anger one more time.
And mourn the time I stayed behind
And the youth I buried there.
Then I put the burning ember of
my cigarette in the tray
I vow to find an outlet
Till these thoughts stop coming back.
A bottle won’t fix nothin'
A man would make it worse
I never asked for you to come
take hostage of my mind.
Don’t you know how busy I am?
that I have other things to do?
I have bills to pay and classes to finish.
I have laundry to do and dishes in the sink.
I have to quit smoking and need to lose weight.
I have a quarter tank of gas and I’m short on my rent.
I have projects due at work
and my pets need to be fed.
My dad is getting sick again -
Did I pay the gas this month?
Tell me brain, can we stop this now?
Time to let this bullshit go right now.
Stressin' to the max, right now.
Gotta find our own way through right now.
We don’t have this kind of time, brain.
We don’t have this kind of time.
Copyright © Julie Bonenfant | Year Posted 2017
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