by Dawn Lanuza
Also by Dawn Lanuza
The Last Time I’ll Write About You
The Boyfriend Backtrack
What About Today
The Hometown Hazard
Break-Up Anniversary
To Phoebe,
May flowers always
bloom on your day.
how it starts
how to love in the dark
No one knows how to love me when I’m sad
and I can’t blame them for that
I don’t even know how to love me
when the voices come at night
I hate and hate and hate
even when I fight.
No one knows how to love me when I’m mad
and I can’t blame them for that
I don’t even know how to stop me
when my voice gets loud
I hate and hate and hate
even when I muffle the sound.
No one knows how to love me
the way I am learning now
it takes time and patience,
tears and self-doubt
I hope and hope and hope
someone will come around.
What a whiny,
self-absorbed girl.
She thinks the worst of herself
when no one even cared
to say a thing or two at all.
all this wanting
I know about wanting.
I wanted a lot of things.
As a child, I wanted to have
a life-sized baby doll
feed it
bathe it
comb its hair
I saw it on TV, and I
wanted it
wanted it
wanted it.
As a teenager, I wanted to meet
this rock band
watch backstage
go on tour
fall in love with the man
I heard their song on the radio and I
wanted it
wanted it
wanted it.
Right now, I wanted to be
with you
catch shows on Friday nights
play football
shop for records
drive around at midnight
watch those shows on your couch
ruffle your hair
touch your face
kiss you good night and I
want it
want it
I want you so bad.
I know I said I know all about wanting
but I don’t know a thing about having.
I haven’t met you
but I already felt like
I was losing you
sad girl
The first boy she ever loved
told her she had sad eyes
but changed his mind quickly.
Instead, he called her eyes pretty.
She didn’t know how to disagree:
take it back, ’cause see—
she was sad, she needed someone
to not call her reasons petty.
She didn’t need the praise
he thought she required.
She needed company
as she learned to speak her mind.
Her sad eyes learned first
to say what she couldn’t.
Isn’t it sad that he couldn’t stay
long enough to hear it?
the mechanic
You tinkered with this heart
made sure it worked fine
screwed back the falling pieces
before leaving it behind.
canceled plans
Didn’t we talk about this?
We said we’d take on projects,
learn musical instruments,
take culinary classes,
write a goddamned book.
Well, I did the last bit.
The last I heard from you,
you started running in marathons,
the last thing I would’ve put on our “to-do list”
but hey,
we’re no longer present in the future
we once imagined in the past.
the perfect plate
When I think of you
I recall silly things.
Glazed doughnuts,
chocolate chip frappé,
linguini carbonara.
Did I ever tell you that I hate carbonara?
But I eat it anyway.
I keep thinking,
It’ll get better
just like you and me.
And maybe once I find that perfect plate
you and I will have the same fate.
We’ll have better timing;
we’ll finally be on the same page.
pass the message
And all I wanted was someone to tap
like in one of those games I played as a child
I didn’t even need a grand gesture
I just wanted to
Feel a pulse to dance along to,
some skin to touch,
a warmth to embody
before I lift my hand
See the pressure roll off
watch it travel to abled arms
feel it say,
Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.
bad kisser
I regretted kissing you;
it was just so bad.
I wish I could kiss you more and more
to rid us of the last one we had.
araneta
And isn’t it funny how I used to kiss you on your lips?
Now I have to settle for your cheeks.
Isn’t it funny how you used to ask me, “Stay, please?”
now I have to get in this cab and watch you leave.
And the boy who wanted her to stay
was one of the first ones who went away
imaginary futures
You’ve painted a nice future for me
one where I’m right by the sea
surrounded by books, drinking my tea.
I envisioned this future you imagined for me
one where I’m looking out the balcony.
The sky is blue, the horizon is endless.
I’m sorry, but how come you’re not in this?
the breakup
Are we breaking up?
I haven’t answered the question
but I could already see the strings snap,
watch the pieces of the puzzle fall out.
It was like standing in the middle of a museum
looking at the things we built in frames.
Nothing seemed wrong from afar
but we knew that the paint was chipping away.
Are we breaking up?
As if it were my decision.
You already did everything to make me
say yes to the question.
the museum of unfinished things
We painted these walls
with our stories
I’m watching the chips fall
crying
Weren’t we building a masterpiece?
How come we’re leaving it unfinished?
passing through
Missing you is a tidal wave,
it swallows me whole.
It reminds me of something bigger
t
han what I’ve settled for.
Your love is a vast ocean
with depths of still unknown.
I was accustomed to silent rivers,
lovers who simply tread along.
My heart had cracks,
it couldn’t contain it all.
Your love went past me
and found a better home.
the new normal
Nothing’s changed.
You still watch the same shows
listen to the same songs
wear the same clothes.
You just lost me, that’s all.
you were my first draft
You accused me of holding back
even when
you had
all of my
unedited
parts
that is so last season
I wish you witnessed
the stars in my eyes
the rhyme in my voice
my heart on my sleeve
I rarely wore it
but with you, I did.
Shame you never saw it;
shame you never will again.
travelers
I was a substitute: someone you talked to while you got over someone you met before we did. I was the transition, how to pass time as you moved from point A to point B.
And I never knew how to keep people. I could never just hold on. Part of me always wants to go, to wander, to roam. But then—you were slipping away first.
So I made it into a competition, found you a replacement soon as you started to do the same. He was temporary—as expected—but you found someone more comfortable with the word permanent.
And while I would rather avoid watching you shower her with your affection like you did with me, I couldn’t help but stare. We were in the same town. We run in the same circles. Every day, I felt a twinge turn into a pinch, until it was squeezing, draining, heart-wrenching.
I always thought, But that was me, not so long ago.
Despite telling myself that you were never the guy for me. You were a substitute, someone who showed up with bandages when my heart had scratches. You were the boost that I needed, all kind words and good intentions, but always wondering, curious, full of life.
See, I was never that girl for you.
I was just a tourist attraction.
But you were that guy for me.
You’ve always been my go-to destination.
There are a thousand ways
to say I miss you but
I could never just
let those words
roll off of my tongue
to get the job done
I was here
I picked that shirt that you were wearing
in this photo that you were showing.
Your eyes were blue and smiling,
next to this girl that you were dating.
It made me smile that a part of me was there
even when you obviously didn’t care.
It was my own version of scribbling, I was here.
Even if it was just with who you once were.
self-medicate
One pill down
here we go
that takes care of the pain
in my head, so
Two nights in
don’t you know
I’ve been living in this bed we shared
thinking of you, oh
Three words then
never heard you say them again
you replaced one with the other
and didn’t even bother
Two nights in
since you left the scene
never saw your face again
where did you go?
One pill down
another one, another one
I do this to numb the pain
but it’s never done
falling in love with your words
They told me
those were just words;
don’t rely on them completely.
But don’t they know?
All we had were our words.
We fell
madly
completely
blindly
in love with our words.
We said
what we said
because we believed.
We heard
what we wanted
because of what we perceived.
Belief is a funny thing
hope is a wonderful feeling
trust, it seems,
is the only thing lacking.
the one thing I missed the most
The one thing I missed the most were his lips,
the way they would part and stretch from the sides
but then again,
it was his smile.
That brief moment of joy that bubbled up from his being
the very thing I wanted most about him.
Happy, he was my image of it,
bright sunflowers in a field of green.
But what of his words?
Carefully chosen syllables
radiating kindness and grace
it always brought a smile upon my face.
to the one I wanted to marry, on your wedding day
Cheers, darlin’
this is a pretty great night
for those who didn’t know me
I was the girl before the bride.
Not here to cause trouble
I just wanted to be a part
of this dream I had
when I was still around.
That was a pretty good track
to walk on the aisle with, by the way.
I would have picked a different tune for the bride
but then again,
this is her wedding day.
she wins
All I have
are these words
my written prose
Now she’s got
all your words,
your attention,
your affection,
your tomorrows.
this is our cosmos
We have these things,
our little inside jokes.
A whole library of facts collated
passed on by a knowing look.
We have these things,
a glimpse of the world
created by faithful companions
before we slipped back to our own.
Why do you always put me through the motions of
losing you
when all along you knew
that I never really had you?
off with your head
“You didn’t need to write about that,” you said.
That was your death sentence.
And what if she doesn’t return,
what if you lose sight of the girl?
how it bends
The thing is—
you can end your life
but lives will carry on:
babies will be born
flowers will still bloom
books will be written
songs will be sung.
The Earth will complete its revolution.
You’re the only one missing out,
not them.
Not all
heartbreaks
have to end
with you
broken.
this is your lullaby
It’s okay
if you find yourself
sitting by the fridge
bawling your eyes out
If it caught you upright
and you had to lie down
in the middle of the room
to cry your heart out
It’s okay
if it happens to you
in the middle of the night
when no one is watching
It’s okay.
You’re okay.
You can wear your sadness
at midnight.
You can keep crying
til you fall asleep.
As long as you’re hurting,
it’s okay.
You’re okay.
You’re gonna be okay
in the morning.
start of the week
Why is the start of the week always hard?
Is it the idea of starting over,
of putting the mask back on
of hiding the safety pins that held you together
and the backstitches that covered your gapes and holes?
Is it because you have to stand up straight
until you get to the end,
until you crawl back to bed
take the mask off
let your insides spill?
You’re a mess;
no one needs to know it.
You’re a mess,
until the start of the week.
crash and burn
There’s excess in her heart
a loaded sigh
a river of tears
a heavy feeling
Where it came from
she doesn’t know
she just feels it
in tiny doses
Sometimes she feels
sometimes she doesn’t
when it comes she gets
thrown off her rocket
Sometimes she feels
sometimes she wished she didn’t.
And isn’t it sad
to be sad
and not be able to say it
true nightmare
You don’t feel safe in yourself anymore
terrified of doing something
uttering a single thing
