Poems about year

We met in high school
(I won't count this as a year
But I fear you didn't
Remember me as I did you)

I: (1989)
We met again
When your best friend
Engaged to mine
I bought the tequila
You bought the limes

II III IV: (1990 -1993)
We dated
On and off
(even though you asked me
To be your bride
1 week after
Our friends
Engagement party)

V: (1994)
We moved together
To Mackay, away from
Your family, great for you,
For mine, I cried

VI: (1995)
We married
After our Son was born
Perhaps you thought
It was time
(I never understood
The delay, I mourned)

VII: (1996)
We struggled
To be partners
And parents

VIII: (1997)
I birthed another Son
We were so happy
Life had
Truly begun

IX: (1998)
Two little boys
So opposite
From their
Father and Mother
We still struggled
(but we had each other)

X: (1999)
You decided your place
In this world
I surprised you
With a trip to Ireland
(you didn't want
To leave your girl,
But you couldn't wait
To meet family)

XI: (2000)
It all fell apart...
Minding your own business
On your motorcycle
Some stupid driver
Ripped you apart

XII XIII XIV (2001 - 2003)
It was just me
Paying bills
With no money
Feeding kids
On love and honey
Endless appointments
With doctors and shrinks
(did anybody think
I'd need a shrink? )
I never blinked, not once

XV: (2004)
You asked for more
Another child you said
As affirmation you are not dead
So I bore you a daughter
At 35...
(the same year I took you
To the veterinary clinic
To be fixed, well...
It WAS just like
Dropping the dog off)

XVI to Present (2005 to Today)
We still struggle
With day to day trouble
But for every year
We survived
I'll give you another,
And a high five

Oh...
And a
*I Love You

Billowed and pasted, rollicked and wasted,
The night takes hold and Samantha, you remember her,
She's smoking again. This is her last pack though.
Drinks poured. Drinks spilled. Kate and I are talking
Like people with scheduled late afternoon love affairs. There's
A car alarm going off in the distance. I love this blouse. Is it new?
No. It looks new. I love your perfume. You aren't wearing any?
Must be a natural—and the first to arrive at the party, Chris and
Evan, they're the first to leave, and we listen intently as one, or maybe both, tumble down the stairs. There should be waivers for second floor
Apartment parties. Kate, you deserve so—I know. I know. You've got this light. Jesus. I'm just saying. Is it radiant? Yes, it's radiant. And they're lighting their drinks on fire now in the kitchen, some concoction of amaretto and 151 and a kickback of Coors. The flames reflect in their eyes, their cheeks a soft amber, and most of them are smiling, not sincerely, but when was the last time you could give yourself over completely to joy? There's a siren in the distance. Someone says they're coming for us. I'm going to the bathroom. Do you need help? And there's this ceiling fan with LCD Christmas bulbs strung around the blades. A myriad of claustrophobic yellows and whites and blues. Have you seen that video of the midget having a baby? And he brings it up on his phone. Someone says, Oh my god I love this song from the bathroom. I hadn't noticed the music before now. Drink this. What is it? You'll see. And Samantha she says she's got to step outside for a second. And someone drops a hookah coal on the beige carpet. There goes the deposit. There's incense. There's a Scentsy. There's Febreeze being sprayed liberally. Can you drive? Can you? Do you want to? You know? I've ate a lot today. The songs keep getting skipped. Parquet Courts, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Chvrches, Miley Cyrus—wait, wait put on some SWIFTY. We're going to fire up in my closet if you want to join. It's a walk-in. Evan's back now. He kicks a mirrorball across the kitchen tile with Chris, who's also back now. Where's Samantha? She's smoking. She shouldn't be alone. You remember last—That won't happen again. I'm just saying. Well, you can stop saying. Sirens again. Closer. We're in the walk-in. Kate tugs on my sleeve. I take a pull off the bronze pinch hitter. Do little circles with my head. Shit, she says. What? It all starts fading out, the rush of dark, the rush of light. Someone says trash can. Sirens. I'm just trying to—Shut up. I'm just trying to—Shut up.

"Heidi why do you have those lines on your arm? "
It's because im a broken person
Trying to heal from all the pain
And the way I say this
I am no where near close trying
To romanticize my self harm or self hate

"so you mean people made you have these cracks in your skin"
Remember the phrase "words hurt"
Well the horrible sickning words
That were addressed to me
Were killing me

"Heidi please don't ever say you hate yourself again because I love you. "
Oh darling
You're beautiful 7 year old mind
Makes me feel like
I'd never have pain again
But what am I feeling
As im trying to explain
Why I hated myself so much
To have "cracks" in my skin
-H. M.

Moment
Of clarity
In the devil's voiced belly.

In the
Fog
Of
Stomach acid
And girls.

A shivering slick
Of beer
Held strobe lights
In a sad way.

People bumped into me
And maybe
I bumped back,
But the
Religion of the slick
Was
Greater than human.

The fog
Swallowed
Me
Whole.

Distilled me.

Energized me.

Focusing only on the slick
On the dance floor.

I knew loneliness.

I knew hollow.

I finally grasped
The inner lining
In my teeth.

Finally
I was alone.

And truthfully, unimportance is
The lowest feeling.

I shoved some guy
Into the dj booth
And
Started swinging.

I still imagine you lying next to me on occassion. I don't picture you as you were, rather how I imagine you now. Happier, Healthier, your freckles starting to bloom like they always do this time of year.

I still imagine you lying in the back seat of my car. Now that space is occupied by cameras that I wish I could take pictures of you with, but I'll likely never see your negatives develop again.

I still imagine my parents asking about you, when they'll see you again. Now your name hasn't been spoken in months and all I want is to hear it from somebody besides myself.

I still imagine you waiting for me in my bed sometimes. Now your place has been taken by countless people, but I wish they're you every single time.

I wish it was you.

I do my hair blue
And nails the color of grapefruit
Of both hands and foot
To embrace another upcoming calendar of Moon
I hope it will be a year of smooth

I set an empty plate on the other side of the table
I've been expecting her all day, the least she could do is show up for dinner
I pour her some wine, I know she hates red
I write a card and lay out some flowers in case it's something I said

It's growing late so I lay out all of the dishes
I eat alone and my hopes diminish as I play our song with no one there to hear it
I even made mashed potatoes, her all-time favorite
I put the wrapped box with her name on it where I know she'll see it

I end up drinking both glasses
Hell why not the bottle
Another year has passed and I can't bury the sorrow
Of the choice she made not to wake up on the ‘morrow

Is it my fault she left?
She said I just wasn't enough this time
But I tried my best
I've never been able to get the guilt off of my chest

It's already December
This year snapped my spine and spilled
My vertebrae across twelve rivers

Before collapsing
I opened doors
That should have stayed locked, bounced glass balls
Against concrete floors.
I ended rather than enduring.

Drinking bloody defeat
I shrank into beetles that belong in the dark
With rock and mildew mud and bones
I lost my own. Undid my feet
And crawling slunk into an anonymous street.

Pale slug with deathly eyes
Embedded in a patch of sky too dark to see
Except at some drunken dreadful hour
When
The light is all wrong:
Me, at the end of this year.

Would it have been fair to ask another to rescue me
I don't know.
Perhaps not, being so unfit to return the favour-
To demand the labour of loving someone so far above one
As to want them endlessly.

I am finite and small. A bare
And ugly wall. In another world this would
Be acceptable. Not mine not now.

Not even a dead cow but the worm that swims through its
Swollen gut. I resist
Nothing, I represent less.
Tonight I confess: death is the more honorable option
If I had any honour.

With none to my name I suffer the worse fate: to persist.

To persist.