You know how when you quit smoking, they say the second day is the hardest?
Then they say that the first three to five days are the hardest?
Then they say that the first two weeks are the hardest but if you can keep up being quit for two weeks, you’ll officially become a non-smoker and thus it gets easier?
Is writing a poem a day for 30 days similar?
Furthermore, is this a poem?
Anyway, I’m kind of bummed out for some friends of mine, so, here’s my Day 6. (And it’s on time, so. I mean, barely, but.)
Things You Can’t Tell Her
if he loved you,
he wouldn’t tell you,
“You love me too much,”
when you flash your winning smile at him
even after he winks at other girls.
you are more than numbers on a scale,
more than your past,
his mommy issues,
more than your worst days,
which are no worse than his better days.
He may have that kind of pinched face you like,
a jaded demeanor, the kind that made you think he’s mysterious,
that he is one who can see,
that he is the one who knows you best,
but does he know you best when you are selfless,
holding baby birds with broken wings in your hands,
singing quietly to them,
“hush baby, you are safe,”
does he know you best when he calls you selfish,
on nights when he doesn’t get his way,
when he calls you ugly before fucking you?
no dick is worth it.
Can he know you best when he is so mired in his own self-destruction?
you are nothing less than love wrapped in the skin of a woman,
you have everything beautiful in the universe inside of you,
I couldn’t love you more.
It kills me to witness a terrible monolith blocking out the sun.