Merry Griefmas

This year it’s just me and my tears and a cup of coffee for breakfast the day before Christmas.

The problem with the Grinch Who Stole Christmas is that not enough emphasis is placed on how he became who he is.When the holidays become hard because of the past, it’s easy to want to have nothing to do with them.

It’s just harder, this time of year, to ignore the pain of loss and heartbreak. It’s as if all the deep wounds float up to the surface for everyone and every encounter to poke about and tear apart.

No matter how much he hurt me when he walked away, I want nothing more right now than to just get everything we once had back.

But wishes can’t be wrapped up and placed under the Christmas tree.

So they stay here, in my heart, reminding me of the lost love that can’t find its way back home for Christmas Day.

Merry Griefmas once again.

repeat after me: it’s not personal.

Sometimes heartbreaks have nothing to do with you.

Sometimes hearing “I’m not in love with you” isn’t personal.

Sometimes someone is just so unhappy with themselves

they think walking away from a relationship will solve things

and bring them the happiness they’ve been missing.

Sometimes they just haven’t yet learned

that the sadness inside

has been there all along

and will not subside

with a partner by their side.

It will not subside until they learn

how to make themselves happy on their own again.

 

Sometimes when you love someone

you need to give them space to realize

that they actually really love you, too.

That they actually never fell out of love with you.

They just fell out of love with themselves.

So how can they possibly offer you love now?

Sometimes they’re so empty they can’t even

open their eyes to the truth.

Or maybe it’s just denial

that the problem is them,

and not you.

Not love.

 

Love is never the problem.

 

And sometimes you can offer that person space

and time works in your favor

and love is reborn.

And other times, when you give space

the distance between two hearts

grows too far

to ever go back.

 

Sometimes you just can’t know

how things will work out

so you surrender to the unknown

and walk down a new path

with blind certainty that you’ll be just fine

because you had to learn how to make yourself happy

without needing anyone by your side.

 

You have learned the lessons.

Now it’s their turn.

 

It’s not personal.

 

Sometimes when people leave,

it really has nothing to do with you.

They’re just so lost that

they think it does.

how you doin’?

I’m enveloped in a cloud of smoke

hoping it’s big enough

to dull my heart

even mezcal wasn’t strong enough-

if anything it just made me miss him

more.

 

If I could talk to him

I would ask

“what are you doing, amore?’

But broken hearts speak like strangers

his words now so carefully arranged

so as not to tear me apart

which is ironic

because it’s much too late

for such niceties now.

 

But hey, that’s ok

maybe this is just what I needed

to get my creative juices

flowing.

Lord knows I’m no stranger to pain.

So I welcome it in.

Tell it I missed it,

even though I was hoping

we’d never see each other again.

What type of warrior are you?

Another dagger in the heart

You’d think by now that 

I’d have learned how 

to use my shield,

how to wield my sword…

Guess I’m just not

the type of warrior 

who fights off love. 

writer problems

the saddest part

of being happy

is having nothing

to write about.

on sadness

the thing about sadness

is that you can’t give it away-

it’s yours to own.

but that doesn’t mean you

should keep it

so let it come and let it go,

just like the currents

and don’t forget

you’re the whole goddamn ocean.

 

 

Never

there’s a quiet sadness in goodbye, in the see-you-later’s in life that are always justified but never guaranteed. and yet.

I pack my bags and don’t look back, my eyes focused on the infinite line of the horizon, searching for what’s ahead without regretting the tears left behind

on cobblestone streets and plain white sheets, on airplane seats and empty rooms where many times I’ve found myself alone but never lonely.

because sadness is what you make of it

the question of self-pity.

Dark

“Is she alright? Her writing is so dark these days!” they say

Because they think I should not speak about lust

love

sadness

and death

“She’s too pretty for that!”

And little do they know

that’s pretty much all life is.

Lucid

Drunk with sleep

Been spending my days

forcing these lucid dreams

to take shape,

forcing my words

to have some meaning

other than this

sadness

you left me with.