Glitched Tapes

I forgot how the words go

I forgot how to stack letters one after another

Or one foot before the other

Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.

Sometimes, I forget you are gone

My mind still glitched on passed upon memories like an old VHS tape

And nobody wants to watch this

Nobody wants to admit that we had it better in socialism.


I have melted into my mattress.

At least here there are no grocery lines

That make me miss your presence,

Because who is going to hold now while I go get the tampons I forgot?

That’s where my knees start giving out

In a queue behind an old Indian lady

And it is all I can do not to let the Nile flow.


I still have to let go

Convinced we are playing the same old broken record again

Convinced I know how this ends,

Does not mean I won’t say the words,

Convinced I know how this goes

And you have me terrified of my own shadow at the very beginning.

The shadow imprinted in so many different places

From not moving for hours

For thinking that if I stay still enough I can become a statue with no memory.


Starting over is hard once you begin calling a new life a mistake

Even harder once I realize you already buried your face into someone else’s perfume

Your teeth full of laughter

And I would like to think you looked for a girl with my name tattooed behind her ears

But what if you realized sex was better with me out of the picture

While I am still finding flaws on all the eligible men,

The biggest one being - they are not you.


How do I let go when I scraped my fingertips on the cliffs of your insecurities

And the only memento I have to take now

Is a lesson not to trust like this again.

How do I make a home out of myself now

When all I could’ve used to build this is left somewhere in the future

Of the woman that reads all the right books and knows how to talk to your mother.


I have filled my head with love poems,

And trust me, I despise them now more than you do,

They made me believe in bullshit like true love and sacrifice and you.

I want to write my own poetry

But I am afraid I lost all the metaphors

In all those letters that were never sent.