Wednesday, May 5, 2010

To All The Men I've Loved Before

I often think of you. The first time I saw you. Or I should say, what I imagine to be the first time, as my memory sometimes gives me images I would rather see than how things really were. I thrash, twist and turn in my bed when I think of you. Often with desire, other times with distaste. This one pierced my nose. That one pierced my side. You all pierced my heart, for the most part. To you, I gave a piece of myself, and you left behind some part of yourself with me, to hold onto forever. You and I didn’t make love, we made out for hours on end. He and I, we fucked until the neighbors complained. You were scared to touch me, yet you over there, you could not keep your hands off of me. I remember how the weight of your body felt on top of mine, and I remember the weight of my heart when you said goodbye. We partied as if the world was ending, whereas your drinking made my love for you die and our world did end. If I lay myself bare before you, will you still love me? If you see every bit and piece of what I am will you understand that I am not what you would like for me to be, nor what you would expect me to become, yet will you accept me for who I am? I say to you, don’t take it personally, but you do. Oh, how you always do.


  1. That is stripped bare, carved to the bone naked. Writers spend their whole lives trying to get themselves to be this open. Bravo.

  2. Thank you! I'm trying to stay open, which oddly enough, is helped by writing. Like a circle, these things are...