of me and men

maybe the problem is that I’m too whole.


they like to feel useful;

to fix broken things.

and for a while there, I was

shattered and bare

the perfect fix-it project for a man with raw hands.

but these days I don’t need to find

some missing part

of me.

I am complete.

no longer just a puzzle piece

but the whole goddamn picture

and yet. they still

can’t see


see me.



it’s not over till it’s over

when the pain cuts deep

and you run out of tears and breath

and your heart feels as if it were only a sliver

of what it used to be

no one can be there to make it better

to make you feel safe.

no, darling-

that’s what my words are for

that’s why I write

for my heart and yours and all the others

who have been shattered by life

but never broken

by love

and who still wait on because they know that


is always the last

to die.





Now, they’ll never tell you this but you have to watch out in life so as not to trip on the mountain of disappointments that grows taller with each year; with each ending of the beginnings we’ve had to live through; with every shoe that dropped to meet the other.

Personally, I like to leave mine in a corner somewhere- that way I know I won’t trip on it and fall on my face. Not again, anyways.

It seems to work.

I’m still here,