So Much, We Give

We give so much of ourselves.
We give to those we love,
and we beg for them to give us back.
We lose parts of ourselves along the way,
so caught up in our giving and taking
we never notice the trades that occur,
and then we give what we have taken
to the third or fourth or fifth
down the line. For we are selfish,
in what we give and what we get -
sometimes it's more we give,
and sometimes it's more we take,
but we never give more than we choose to.
Of course, the utter gift,
the oblivion and loss of self,
is when we give our all, but even
then it is our choice, not curse,
and when eventually we have none left to give
it is ourselves to blame.
We give so much, to friends and foes,
to loves and fairy tales,
but what we give we can earn back,
with interest, if we choose.

villanelle

I got my tattoo without you, but it
did notchange me - the needle buzzed the same.
It hurt my breast, but pain just seemed to fit.

I missed you there. The thought of you just bit
into my pulse and made me blush with shame.
I got my tattoo without you, know it.

You don't have time for me, you say, and bit
by bit I know. Alone, my heart went lame
and hurt my breast, but pain just seemed to fit.

The chair held me the way your arms had quit
around my waist, your heart had quit its flame.
I got my tattoo without you, damn it.

You'd promised me so long ago you'd sit
by me today, but dreams of you inflame
me, hurt my breast. The pain just seems to fit.

I took the loss of you at once, a hit
upon my chest, and no, you never came.
I got my tattoo without you, and it
hurt my breast too. The pain just fit.

#13

you broke my heart when i left you. my choice,
my irony, what can I say? I sob
and you return my things. The bitter job
is nothing, for she makes your heart rejoice.

we're better off this way, I know, and this
knowledge just makes me choke on deep
dark dregs of dreams. My heart no longer leaps
at sight of you, my lips no longer kiss.

If I could turn back time - but would I? Know
that this is done, my heart cautions. I do.
My actions are but that; I cannot rue
what my mind undid - my mind, my heart's foe.

It's too late now to change my mind and heart,
so one must close, the other hope impart.

#6

Love

I had a dream about you, you had died.
I woke up screaming, could not breathe, and I
was forced to slip away from my warm bed
to check if you still breathed. You did. I cried.
That's love, for me, the pain that goes with joy,
the fright that leaps into my heart at signs
of age, ill health, disease. No more a boy,
coy Time has greyed your hair and drawn fine lines.
I told you how I dreamed but you would not
give comfort to me with old lies. Instead
you said full face, “I'll die, sweetheart, I've got
only so much life.” I went back to bed.
But there's only so long for me to hide,
and I couldn't love you more if you had lied.

December #5

Maybe I froze my heart,
locked it up, threw it away
into the snows that cover my fields.

Maybe I burned my heart,
let it love too hard,
until it extinguished itself.

Maybe I buried my heart,
in a well of loam and soil,
and covered it, forgot to mark the spot.

Maybe I blew away my heart,
whipped it with cruel winds
until it gave up, tired
of trying to care.

October #4

let's talk about tired,
about waiting up
on foolish excuses
because of silly fears.

let's talk about tired,
about wasting the night away
on one boy, one hope,
because of long loves.

let's talk about tired,
about burning time
plunking at the keyboard,
because of school or research.

let's talk about tired,
the kind of tired that stays with you
even after you've slept every night,
ten hours,
twelve hours,
fourteen hours,
and you still
can't
get
out

of your bed.

September #3

i would like to write
the one poem for you
the perfect one
that describes your skin
your smile
your body in bed
lit by moonlight.
It would have to talk about
your wow addiction
and your inability
to make me really angry
and then I would talk about
how wonderful you are
and have been,
about fall and spring,
festivals, presents, and yarn.
I would like to write a poem about you
that could tell everyone
what you really are,
all of it,
the good
and the bad -
for we both know that there has been bad.
but you are not bad,
no more than any other person,
just one human
moved by your heart
as well as your head.
I would write this poem,
but it would never stop,
continuing as you continue.
So I cannot write that poem,
or else I would become wrapped up
in my story oef you,
and lose you,
my time with you,
and my perceptions would fade,
losing accuracy,
and instead detail a dream.
And after all,
you are so much better
than any idle dream of mine.

http://www.meaningless.com/home.asp?poem=i_wrote_a_good_poem

Love,
Emily

September #2

they met at the movies
over fishnets and corsets,
shouting gang-bangs to the screen.

they kissed over dinner,
greasy burgers
eaten standing up at counters,
wrinkling their elbows
with leaning.

they loved in parking lots,
wild fields and public bathrooms,
beds and tables and chairs.

August #14

today
was a very good day
wherein i made plans
and broke them
so i could be with myself.
i made cookies
and ate them
so i could be myself.
i bought cardboard cartons
and ate chinese
so i could enjoy myself.
i went to his house
and cuddled
so i could love myself.
today
was a very, very good day.

August #7

Tomorrow
I will be sitting in class
and when my teacher comes in
tell her
that feminism is disturbing my love life,
in little ways at least.
She will ask me why
and I will tell her
about the
last-name-battle
and then she may ask me
what I think.
I know what I will say.
"I think
I am far too young
to be thinking about marriage
either way."

August #2

I remember Virginia
standing in a big meadow
at ten past day
watching the lightning in the distance
so far that it framed the horizon
dancing in orange shots
down in the valley-city below.
I watched the stars
come out and dance
a planet rise, a planet fall,
a plane go by full
of people looking down
at the beauty they could barely see.
The cicadas echoed the hum of my heart
as I stood there in the big meadows
hiding from the world.
The cicadas were my heart
when I thought of you.

July #20

I wonder what it is I did
to make you come to class with me
live just down the road from me

I wonder what it is I did
to be so lucky finding you there
sitting so unconsciously

I wonder how it could've been that I
had never known you before this

before love

July #12

We


We are going
to have a house,
a nice house,
somewhere
far away from where I am right now,
somewhere that I may have never been.
We are going to have a house.
We are going to have a garden,
with flowers and pumpkins,
because I like pumpkins,
even though
they might not grow well there.
We are going to have our garden and
I am going to have my pumpkins.
We are going to have children,
adorable children,
who take after relatives we don't know.
We may not even know they take after people,
because we'll be far away
from the rest of our families.
But it is a beautiful place, I hear.
We are going to have a yard
with room for a sheep
and two dogs
and a cat, at least one cat.
Perhaps
if the children convince us
we may have a hermit crab as well.
But no bugs, snakes, or slimy things.
We are going to go visit our families for Christmas
and Thanksgiving
and New Year's
and maybe sometimes in the summer
just for fun.
We are going to be happy,
with our house and garden and children and pets,
and high priced airfare.
But we would be happy
in an apartment
with high rent,
no kids,
one flower growing in one pot,
and a goldfish,
if we had to.
Because we know what love is.

July #8

About How You Can Never Complain Again




so
this one
is about how you can never complain again
about how sometimes when you call me
and i'm too busy to talk
or i'm hanging out with other people
and am talking to them
instead of you.
this one
is about how your right to do that
has been revoked.
and this one is about how
i put away time to talk to you
when i was away
and you
you can't really be bothered.
this one is about how
you turned off the volume
when i was talking to you
so that you could do other things
and the sound bothered you.
this one is about how
even when you're online
"talking" to me
you don't say anything
and i have to wrestle with the conversation
to make anything
happen.
this one is about how you don't really talk to me
unless we're on the phone
and you have to.
this one is about how
i do things, so many things,
for you.
not everything.
but i put away time and don't develop friendships
so i can talk to you
and i support you,
your drinking, your friends
that i don't know, or that i don't like,
and i never, ever tell you
that i'm so uncomfortable with something
you have a deep desire for
that you can't do it.
this is about how
we are uneven
and more and more
how it matters.
this one is about how
you can't complain any more.
with love.

June #8

thank you for the flowers
the flowers that are still blooming
despite the intolerable heat.
they make bright my day,
a visible token of your love.
I am loved, by you,
and would have it no other way.

June #5

I don't know if you know this
but I'm not all the girl I used to be.
I'm half that girl,
and the other half
is this scared, madly in love,
afraid to lose anything,
afraid of everything,
easily hurt, easily bruised, easily broken and betrayed half woman.
She feels abandoned easily.
She is ruled entirely by her emotions.
The other me,
the first me,
the one you feel in love with,
can think and breathe and make living sense,
but she is overruled by this new presence
who sometimes
insists that horrible things will happen,
expects things -
and then wonders if she's expecting too much.
This other woman
doesn't know her limits
but knows that she has fallen so deep in love
that to extricate herself
is suicide.
You need to treat her gently.
I am not her,
and most of the time,
that girl you feel in love with
is dominant.
But on days like today,
when that new woman has put herself
in the spotlight attempting
to make you happy,
you must be gentle,
appreciative, loving,
and hold her hand and look
into her eyes
and tell her what she wants to hear.
Because otherwise
she'll leave,
and call later,
and let you hurt her
again
and again
and again.
Then she'll wonder
how many chances you're allowed to have,
and cry more than she should ever do.

Just love her the way you love me,
but gently.

May #23

Cleaning,
going through papers,
things in my desk drawer,
I found a treasure trove
of love notes,
you to me.
They reminded me of things
I'd forgotten,
like how we use to write love notes
and hand them off between classes.
You bought me yarn,
we went for crabs,
I wrote pages
in your yearbook.
Funny how much you can forget
while remembering
still more.

May #22

Still worrying

Something's bothering me,
and I don't know what it is.
I do know
I want you here by my side,
and if no one comes to that party tonight,
well then that's fine by me,
it'll be just
you and me
and we can eat all of those cupcakes
(I made ten)
and complain about getting fat,
order out,
eat in bed,
then push everything off the bed
including our clothes.
I'll make it through work,
but after,
you have to promise yourself to me.

May #17

I still worry, you know.

I can see people telling me,

like in a movie,

Oh, you're coping so well

when on the inside

I am just beginning to stabilize.

Like any new thing,

you have to repeat it

to learn it,

to like it,

to at least

get used to it

and eventually forgive it.

I'm still coping. 

Just in a different way.

May #14

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

there is hope
for the girl
who cries too hard
and longs for
permanent respite.

there is hope
in the form
of a lover, a boy
who hurts her
but at least is trying.

there is hope
and they'll make it
she just has to fight through
and realize
this all will pass.

but until that time,
he can't hold her too tight,
or tell her he loves her too much.

This, too, shall pass.

Just love me.