Raw With Love by Charles Bukowski
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
I won’t blame
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won’t blame you,
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won’t use it


Dear Old Love

So its been a year since you happened. Twelve whole months have passed since I met you, and though we’ve spent a majority of that time apart I would lie if I said I don’t sometimes miss you. Just a year ago, my stomach was aflutter. I couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of you- your warm touch, your comforting embrace, your sweet kisses. I still hear echoes of your voice from our daily calls, resonating in the corners of my mind as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. You were my first challenge, I met my match. I wanted to stop playing the game, in hopes that maybe something real might emerge. Alas, insecurity and uncertainty kept me going in the same old habits, same tricks and techniques to restore my crumbling ego. Maybe it was the distance that separated us, maybe we were at different stages in our lives, maybe I couldn’t thaw the cold exterior fast enough to show a warm heart. Maybe.

Although the wounds have healed, a scar remains. Instead of being a reminder of past pain, its a sign of inspiration. Regardless of prevalent numbness, remains an intact heart still capable of bearing emotions- compassion and hope, sadness and joy, love and pain. That in itself is worth the disappointments, the turmoil, and the suffering that comes as a part of love. It’s worth living knowing that maybe I’ll feel the same with a better match, my match. Inspiration to live in turn is worth writing for: searching for that person, or maybe persons that will irrevocably change me without notice. Its time for new chapters to be written of the long journey ahead, with pages filled with new characters, new encounters, and new possibilities alongside the promise of tomorrow.

With that being said, I bid adieu dear old love.

Goodbye my Almost Lover

Strangers, that’s all we were. Two people that happened to meet at a point in time through different circumstances. I come from from a world so vastly different from yours, yet something out there conspired to bring us together for a brief period. It started with innocent conversation, nothing deviant from the norm. After the initial pleasantries, we remained in parallel pursuits. It wasn’t until recently that our paths collided once more, but this time things we different, we were different. I was recovering from a broken heart, while you were just coming into terms with yours. We’ve known each other for quite a while, even working within close vicinity of one another, yet you were out of focus until that time.

I never really knew you. I had an image of you created in my head upon our initial meeting: typical pre-med with the inflated ego to complement. That’s all you were for the years prior. It wasn’t until you were broken, just as I was, that I saw you. With your walls shattered, your ego broken, and your mask set aside the only thing left was you sans the image you built for yourself. I saw your passions and the things that make you tick. Your quirks became endearing and I began to grow attached to our little conversations- the good morning texts and sweet good nights. We were two lonely people trying to make sense of the world around us.

Maybe that’s just what we both needed at the time, someone to make it seem like things are still okay. Or that we were still capable of being wanted even if our object of affection no longer does. We knew we were incompatible. We knew that whatever we had was transient and ephemeral. When it was over, I first felt a great sense of longing, as though something was missing without getting a text or a message from you.

As time passed, the sense of gaping emptiness closed in and I was whole again. I haven’t thought of you since our last tryst. The last kiss was my goodbye. I didn’t bother attending your going away party knowing you’d put on that mask to hide yourself becoming a false image of the guy I almost liked. I’ve boxed away and locked up all the previous emotions and sentiments I had to make room for whatever the future holds with someone else. It wasn’t until you texted me after the party saying how sad you were not to say final farewells that the floodgates opened again. I don’t miss you like I used to, I don’t long for the texts, nor hope for your call. But I do wonder what could have been.

What could have been if the timing was right. If we both figured out what we wanted and went for it. If we set aside our fear of rejection, stopped playing games, and gave up that damn pride. Then what? Would our little stolen moments amount to something more than their isolated incidents? Maybe one day we’ll meet again and realize what we could have been and give it an honest try then. Maybe you’ll still think of me, maybe I’ll still think of you. Maybe. I guess we’ll never know.