Like a cat
I’ll purr
If you pet me
Just right
But like a cat
If you cross me
I’ll gauge your eyes out
With my claws
He read things I didn’t know
I had written under the surface
With his hands skimming my edges
And cupping my folds
Reading the words I was never able to say
Like a blind man with braille etched into my skin
You are all four horsemen of my apocalypse.
I could taste my destruction on your lips
But it was sweeter than wild flower honey
And so, I drank it down.
When the end came, all I smelled was flowers.
He was my apple, my serpent, and my Satan.
My ultimate fall from grace.
What if Eve desired to leave Eden all along?
Then you were gone
And there were a million different ways
I hadn’t loved you yet
A thousand other ways I could have told you
Those words
Hundreds of moments I could have spent
With you instead
And then in only one moment
You were gone
And there would be no more time left with you
Because where you went
I couldn’t follow
I feel the loss of you heavy like a mantle over my shoulders
Dragging across the ground with every leaden step
I wear the crown of mourning without poise
A graceless Queen.
If I answer your questions
Your
“how are yous”
And
“what’s ups”
If I open my mouth to respond
I’ll cry
And that is not what you asked for
If it is
If you are truly worried about the tragedy
Folded into the creases beside my eyes like prayers
In Israel’s Western Wall
And the pallor of pain blasted onto my cheeks
Like La Melancholia
All you have to do
Is ask
The right
Questions
And prepare to hold me while
I break
I survived
I am no longer nice
Sweet, pink, and new
But
I am not cruel
And that is all you should ask for.
He was ink stained hands
And grease smeared jeans
That fit just right
He was apple orchards in the fall
And motorcycle rides
With the sea wind in his hair
He was uncharted wilderness
King of a realm without rules
And I was the one he wanted there
at his side
He is not dead.
I love him and I wear him in my heart.
So.
He is not dead.
I know him and I live out his days in my head.
So.
He is not dead.
I am still alive but half-formed because he is not here also.
So.
He is not dead.
Because if he was, I would be too.
The stages of grief: denial.
Poetry is one of the most difficult forms of writing because it follows no set rules and its very fluidity is mean to be questioned and interpreted differently by each reader. Maybe it’s for this reason that I’ve always been drawn to it, the rebel in me yearns to break the rules and rewrite hard to understand truths into easily digestible sound bites. It might be the reason I have never, ever thought to call myself a poet even though I’ve been writing poems since I was a teen. Truthfully, even after publishing this work of poems, I will probably still refrain from usually the epitaph in conjunction with myself. What makes a poet? As with most titles, part of me believes it should be designated by a certificate or the complete of a program, bestowed upon me by the Queen of England like a knighthood or blessed unto me by a priest. But the truth is, love and life make a poet of everyone, even if the words are only felt in our hearts and the rhythms only echoed in the beat of our pulses. We feel so deeply as human beings, I think it’s a natural inclination to desire to put words to those emotions, and whatever words you give them are poetry by nature because every emotion is beautiful and well felt.
So, I supposed I could call myself a poet just as easily as I do others, but whether or not I do, I hope you enjoyed this collection of poems. I wrote them from the perceptive of a man, both because I have always identified in strange and intimate way with the opposite sex, but also because ostensibly, the narrator of this book is King Kyle Garro from my novels, Lessons in Corruption and After The Fall. King is my poet biker, a man who grew up in motorcycle boots with a convicted felon as a father with the forecourt of a garage as his backyard. He is not the type of man who would ever assume would have romance and empathy in his soul, which is exactly the reason he is one of the most beautiful characters I have ever written. Some of these poems are featured in Lessons in Corruption and his subsequent book After the Fall, but most are original to the collection. They tell the story of his life and love from both novels, but they also tell the greater story of someone who is inherently misunderstood because of their origins and who struggles to define himself outside of social mores. King uses his poetry to rewrite himself, just as I think everyone who gives voice to their emotions can rewrite the trajectory of their thoughts and life.
Now, on to thanking the many people who encouraged me to pursue this project.
Thank you Allaa for going on this journey with me. You read every poem almost as soon as it was written; read them and critiqued them until they were polished as perfectly as the pearls we love. You hold my hand through everything I go through both personally and professionally and even though we live on different continents across the world from each other, I feel the echo of your beautiful presence every day of my life and it brings me untold comfort and joy.
Ella, my love, thank you for reading this collection in its raw form. You are one of the best friends I’ve ever had and I love your face, your gentle voice, and your blunt, beautiful way.
To Ali Silver, my immensely talented illustrator. You read my words and spun them into visual gold. I can’t tell you what it means to me to do this project with one of my lifelong best friends and with an artist I have always admired.
Armie Armstrong, the female love of my life, thank you for listening to my creative deluge whenever I get an idea, good or bad.
Michelle Clay, how do I count the myriad of ways you love and support me? I can’t. I feel you like a warmth at my back whenever I doubt myself. Thank you for reading my words and for always identifying with them. The poem ‘Hush’ is for you.
Fiona––Petunia, Feefers, Fifi, Matherton, Mathy–– the nature of true friendship is about you. I was such a shy, soft, overly sensitive thing when we met and you were this confident, fun, and kind light I was drawn toward. I’ve learned so much from you over the years about being a good friend and a good woman. I’ll never be able to thank you for the beauty and longevity of our friendship except by reciprocating that goodness until the day we die.
Lauren, you are the kindest, softest, prettiest heart I know. I feel so lucky to have you back in my life in such a profound way. Even just the thought of you makes me smile.
To my boys, you’ve taught me so much about men over the years––both good and bad. I wouldn’t be me without the seven of you informing my preteen, teen, and early adult years. You shaped me, you ground me, and you love me no matter what. It feels like having a super power to know I have incredible men like you at my back.
To the poets who have influenced me over the years; e.e cummings, Maya Angelou, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, John Keats
, Pablo Neruda, William Shakespeare, John Milton, Dante, Atticus, Lang Leav, Amanda Lovelace, Michael Faudet, Nikita Gill, Tyler Knott Gregson, Beau Taplin, and Rupi Kaur… and so many more I cannot list them.
Finally, to the love of my life. Every love poem I have ever written is inspired by you because my heart has and always will be owned by you. I feel you every day in the vessels and chambers of my heart as it beats. I cannot wait to love you forever.
The Evolution of Sin Trilogy:
The Affair
The Secret
The Consequence
The Evolution of Sin Trilogy Boxset
The Fallen Men Series:
Lessons in Corruption
Welcome to the Dark Side
Good Gone Bad
The Enslaved Duet:
Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet, Book 1)
Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet, Book 2)
The Elite Seven Series:
Sloth (The Elite Seven Series, #7)
Coming Soon:
After the Fall (The Fallen Men Series #4)
Giana Darling is a Top 40 Best Selling Canadian romance writer who specializes in the taboo and angsty side of love and romance. She currently lives in beautiful British Columbia where she spends time riding on the back of her man’s bike, baking pies, and reading snuggled up with her cat Persephone.
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gianadarling.com
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King of Iron Hearts Page 6
