I Stooped Writing Beautiful Things

“I’m sitting on the floor of balcony of madness
looking over your world ,
I’m sitting cross legged, rolling love,
getting high on abandon.
I look over and see you in an apartment across the street,
or maybe I wanted to.
tell a stranger that all my love poems are about you,
have always been
and that makes me sick.
On a night like every other night ,
I write you angry poetry.
tell you the icy taste of my mint cigarette and
the story of the stain on my lips.
I lied about it, I lied that I have been good,
 have been taking care of myself.
I’ve been told the only way to lie well is to do it often,
so this is me telling you
there will be other men,
there will be other men,
there will be other men.
And it will break your heart won’t it?
I want to tear your heart apart like
a Greek goddess gone mad
only you don’t believe I could sin.
You’re right, I can’t,
only I am the sin
sin, God wanted to keep your from,
sent prophets down to the earth for,
your mother begged you to let go of.
I’m here and I’m not leaving until you say you can’t,
until you’re on your knees begging me to leave
but holding onto my hand,
your head splitting at what you’re doing to your heart,
like a father killing his child,
like humans wrecking the earth that gave them life,
it doesn’t make sense.
And I still won’t be gone.
I’d stay and I’d say fuck you
over and over
until it’s gentle
until you don’t hear it
until it reminds you of your mother’s anger.
So quiet , almost as a whisper,
almost I don’t care if you are confused.
I won’t leave but you would wish I did won’t you.
You’d wish I stopped painting our walls with the unloving.
My fist in your heart, I’m almost fearless
I’m not done being shameless.”
– I Stopped Writing Beautiful Things; A Poem For You by Thamanna Razak

3 thoughts on “I Stooped Writing Beautiful Things

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