Self-Portraiture for the Broken Hearted

When he hasn't paid the bill
and the tao gets shut off
between you,
your lover disappears
like a face falling slowly
below the surface
of an ocean at night.
And even though he is right there,
you can't reach him.
And you are done trying
because you are proud
and somewhere deep down you know
you'll live through this.



In dreams you see his back receding.
It was once your safety, your roof,
your pleasure board,
where you traced the letters
I L-O-V-E Y-O-U with your trembling fingertips
after sex
because you were too shy to say it.

Look at the phone, just look at it-
he's right there, it's incredible-
he is right there
but he won't answer.
He is gone
and it feels like death.
He was so cruel, so cold.
So you, female, who let him inside
your body, your home.
You are left empty.
You, adult child of abuse,
you are left shattered
when he yelled like your father
about to bring down the belt.
Hatred burns inside you.
You saved his life when he overdosed-
mouth to mouth, deepest kiss
you have ever known
and the Chinese say
when you save one, it's yours forever-
but you don't want it.
Let go of the anger- it is attachment.
Rebuild.
Look at your life, your love is huge.
Be in your body, you must return to your body.
Do whatever it takes
to feel pretty.
Hope he's looking.
Hope you stop wanting
even this,
to even this
soon.