Arts and Culture

Suzi Q. Smith: Read the poetry created by this week's cover artist

Page 5 of 7

You Ruin Everything

I love you. This is neither fair nor reasonable. I hope I hurt you. I hope I ruined your life.

I hope you vowed to treat the next one better than you treated me. I hate how well you treat her. I still love you. It is a fierce injustice.

I hope the hole I left in your life will always whistle. I hope I am the one that got away. I burned every picture of you. I deleted your name from my phone.

You ruin everything. There are too many jokes that only you get. They are not funny anymore. I still e-mail them to you sometimes.

You are a diamond ring on someone else's finger. You are the meal at the five-star restaurant that made me vomit. You are my dream home and the termites in its bones. You are a shipwrecked yacht.

You are a dream, a nightmare coming true. You are a snowman on the first warm day. You are a sunset on a moonless night. You are the last cigarette.

You are a sweaty 2:00 a.m. pulling me away from what would have been a good fight. You are two lovers that do not make love. You are new sandals in a snowstorm. You are a kiss on the cheek and the smell of another woman.

You are Central Park and the autumn leaves and the giant moon and the rats in the bushes.

You are a bad poem. You are the midnight kiss and the morning remorse. You are the birthday phone call. You are a wedding gown after the divorce.

You are a photograph of a dead friend that I still want to remember as living. You are a great poem. You are the best poem. You are the poem that breaks my heart.

You broke my heart. Several cardiologists confirmed this. The echocardiogram showed there was a piece of it missing. The blood kept flowing backward and maybe that's why it's so hard to let go.

It is a fierce injustice.

I left your book in your mailbox. I am not sure the world is big enough. Even the moon looks like you sometimes. This is neither fair nor reasonable.

You cannot have me now. I do not want you. I do not want to want you. You are a parking lot conversation after everything has closed and we cannot stay and we cannot go.

I do not want to write for you. You do not love me. I used to tell people it was complicated. I sometimes still dream in your voice.

I hope you burned everything that reminds you of me. I hope I ruined your favorite song. I hope your smile will always bear my signature. I hope you will always miss me.

The hole in my life whistles.

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Kelsey Whipple
Contact: Kelsey Whipple