It began with my fingernails.
The wrong colour,
too yellow. Why is that?
The fake tan smelled strange.
Stained the sheets.
Didn't matter
about the melanoma that took him away
We should fix that.
"A rose surrounded by weeds" he said
"and I am helping to trim them"
Yes,
I felt every cut.
I looked prettier with my hair tied back,
he said. I told him
it made me feel unfamiliar to myself
brought back memories of
seeing my reflection, patchy
unlovable
I couldn't tell whether feeling unlovable
was still part of the process
Maybe
I should get used to the feeling
I expressed concern over my boundaries
the breaches crashed like waves,
constant, overwhelming.
Said I was too friendly, that I wouldn't
be respected if I kept that up
But I don't think silence suits me
any more than the ponytail.
The house needed to be rearranged
My furniture was wrong, the layout
inefficient. There was no room for him
The cat took up too much of the bed
I tried to talk
I tried to talk
I tried to talk
about all this.
I say no too much, he says.
I say yes too much, he says.
I am stubborn, unmoving, unwilling
but I subjugate, step back, shrink
away, I don't
grow towards his light
"Can't you see this is what you need?
That this is what will help?
I can't make you love me.
You don't trust me."
I tried to talk.
The cat died. I cried
quietly on the bed.
A day later, it was too much
An overreaction, grief expelled incorrectly
A cork thrown at my head
While I fell asleep, exhausted
I sank into the blue.
The energy to fight left the room
but still, I tried to talk.
We tried again.
I tried again.
I tried and tried to talk.
So now,
when I close the door,
when I choose to walk
I will be know in my heart,
that I tried to talk.
