Too Sick

When you told me your therapist said
I shouldn't be in a relationship because 
clearly I'm still too sick

I wondered what you told her.
I wondered all the things she knows that I never got to hear
Your anxiety or your worry or your fear
or maybe just how you wanted to get away from here


When you told me your therapist said
I shouldn't be in a relationship
I wondered how you long you convinced yourself
to come to that conclusion
or how much you needed that second opinion
to affirm your allusion 

I wondered why you scoffed at my commutation
but i never heard you talk
never knew how quickly and easily you planned to walk
never heard a word of how hard it must be, to just be with me

i read the notes you left, the i love yous and i love your smile
they didn't mention the soul sucking pain
my mental illness seems to drain
all the words it seemed you wanted to say

but i thought i heard you say
i was good enough for you to stay


When your therapist said i was too sick
i wondered, to what? to love you? to be loved by you?
i wondered what you thought
or what you already knew

People with  mental illness are deserving of love
by someone, but not by you
by someone strong, by someone who
can handle the warmth of the sun and cold of the moon

you called me more than a constellation
you called me a whole network of twinkling fire
my own meteor shower

i didn't realize you must have meant to emphasize
the fall, the debris, the devour

did I end up burning too bright
did your therapist say
I'm no good for your eyes
I'm good for someone who can handle traumatized

A crooked lover can show you all the love in the universe
but will always fall flat it's a curse
and they may need help cleaning their bloody knees
once in a while
but you don't have to, you don't have to.

i wonder if your therapist knew
how much i loved you
when your therapist said
I shouldn't be in a relationship anyway

Apologies

I won’t bring you bouquets of gardenias

After i’ve made you feel small
I won’t leave pink peonies in your mailbox

When i speak in hurtful absolutes
I won’t clip the hydrangeas from the yard

In remorse for scaring you
I won’t pick sunflowers on the side of the interstate

To ask you to stay

I never want the innocence of new blossoms

To veil my attempts to cut you down

The blooms that bring you joy

To wilt with the painful memory

The sweetness of a flower

To sour with association

I will never bring you flowers

Arranged as an apology

I will walk through fields in repentance

Sowing seeds for new growth

You deserve gardens.

someday someone will

On the count of three

i didn’t want to forget that we seemed so happy

I remembered the July heat and singing strawberry wine 

the backgammon board set up all funny.

I told you i was a crippled pony

and you told me you led horses into the woods to calm them

but you must have forgotten that.

I started counting backwards days ago

3-2-1, I know

you forgot the songs we sang,

the jokes i told were getting old.

All the self deprecation you said you hated

you nodded along and thanked me

for admitting my wrongdoings.

The question that was never asked,

“Do we each deserve a sad prince

with our own dirty records?”

Will we bandage you but leave our war wounds bleeding?

You were the first person to cry with me

and say no, never,

you deserve something else (but not better).

I took down the note you wrote,

“I have your back.”

I believe you didn’t know it,

but you didn’t mean that.

Telepathy

When you are very sick