Emptying the Apartment & Two Poems

I have been packing up my apartment. The one I have lived in for the past five years. It feels weird like I’m dismantling my past.

I’ve found old videos I made, poetry I have written, old manuscripts of mine, photographs and letters from ex-lovers, and I’m just feeling so weird about moving on.

Here’s an old poem I wrote in January of 2009.

The Long Drive

Drive around starry twilight, and to tell you the truth
I don’t know the difference between late night and dawn.

Your eyes of steel blue trained on the road gravely
sometimes flick over in my direction. Makes me wonder
what you see, what colors me beautiful in those gazes?

Is it the slow moon disappearing behind the horizon lines?
Is it the light of dawn creeping into strand of this hair of mine?

Is it merely love?

Entrust to me your heart,
and I swear I will take care of it
forever (for always).

Brush the fireflies out of my gazes
and see you standing still,
a look of love adorning your pupils.

Call me naive, but I believe this to be
the love that lasts.

He broke up with me about two months after I wrote that poem. After skipping Valentine’s Day dinner that I made him from scratch to be with the woman who is now his wife.

Here’s another one from May of 2010.


This love has left me blinded,
orphaned, tied in knots.

This love has left me crawling,
begging for a fix.
(You swore you would give me
a hit.)

This love is what scarred so badly
(left track marks running up & down
my veins)

Now I’m a junky for you,
trailing off the scent of old, unsigned letters.

I sit there, rereading words of you,
memorizing the gazes you sent me
and interpreting what each one meant.

This love is what keeps me coming back
for more, time and time again.

(Yet here, in an empty apartment, you will find me,
dry bones and ash.)

I waited too long to speak my mind.
(My mind was drawing blanks, but maybe
I was misfiring.)

I waited too long to give into my desires.
(Maybe they were empty after all these years.)

I waited too long, and now, the palmists are changing
their predictions.
The love line now appears to fold in on itself
(a worm swallowing its tail).
The love line now appears shorter in span.

(And all the predictions have gone horribly awry.)

That one I wrote after an all-nighter. The lack of sleep is really apparent to me, but it’s still a not too bad of a poem.

It really is interesting the things you find when cleaning out an old apartment. For me, it’s like fumigating the past and inhaling the toxins of my devils.



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