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Poetry | love&light
Interview for Ever

Interview for Ever

Have a seat

Make yourself at home

Would it be OK if I ask you a thousand questions about

:Who you are

:Who you have been

:Who you hope to become

Tell me about a time that you met a stranger and let them inside

Tell me about a time you froze over with fear and somehow found the strength to keep pressing forward

Tell me about a time that hurt

Made you feel so torn down that air seemed worthless

Is this really the job you want

Revisiting old wounds like a murderer’s playpen

Can you invest in potential one last time

Do you have the resolve to see what’s in front of you


Without the haze of the past or the threat of what-if

The pay won’t be great.

It’ll be rough times with no acknowledgment

Arguments with no resolution

Guaranteed overtime at half the pay

It’s long hours and continuous demands

But in those moments

Those moment when you’re fed up and weary and tired and stressed

There’ll be a glimmer of hope in the form of “thank you,”

“I love you, ”

“I’m sorry,”

“You’re beautiful, ”

It’ll be up to you to decide

In those moments

If tomorrow is worth it

If clocking in one more time, every time makes sense

It’s up to you to re-engage

To recommit

To make the choice for ever

-iamdew ©2016

Moonrise over Assala (A fictional place)

I love you. I will always love you. But, what we had wasn’t authentic. It’s hard to say but I’m not sure either of us were really ever being honest at the same time. But understand that I know you love me. I know that you cared and that as hard as it was for you to get out of bed some days you really did what you could at the time. It wasn’t enough. I wish I had a softer way to say that. But, believe me when I tell you it was never that you weren’t enough. You were overflowing with more than I knew to ask for. It’s just that this heart needs a fine tune pitch that I know now isn’t in common range. Wait, I’m not calling you common. I’m only trying to share that we missed each other for the long haul but for the moment it was just right. Now we have to move on. I cannot pretend that I don’t still hurt in lingering moments that I wish I could salve. I can’t pretend. I cannot pretend that the idea of your nuptials so soon after our finality doesn’t penetrate a place that the love of my life may be the only burn cream for. I don’t pick at the scar anymore. I’ve let it heal and I’ve taken care not to reopen the wound but it peeks through a dry patch of skin every now and again and reminds me that it was once a fresh batch of exposed cells delighted by the sun. Now it has history and character and I have a wound that I talk myself into being proud of when some nights I want to burn it away. This is me being dramatic. I know. Old habits die hard. And somewhere in the middle of learning that lesson- I had to be ok with everything I am and everything you are not. I found that road. I walked it in tears and curse words, loneliness and resentment. But I arrived, nonetheless. I completed that journey. So when you show up in my right now no different than you’ve always been you have to understand, I’m beyond that walk. I moved away from those pit stops and I am ready for a permanent home. I’m sorry I can’t meet you there. I cannot walk backwards and offer comfort on bare feet so that you can tie your shoes tighter and thank me for coming. I miss you. I always will. But this is our swan song because even if we meet again, it’ll be on new soil planted with new seeds to fertilize a new us. There is no going back. Thank you for no goodbye, it was the best hello I never asked for.


Deep waves crashing
A sun too weighed down
To stay high
Echos of light
Over a body we take for granted
I have a report due
Tomorrow by noon
You have several clients
Awaiting designs
We have an impatient moon
Hanging over us
Threatening to reveal
The lines in our faces
The responsibilities in our midst
TVs and computers off
Phones put away
cracked crayons
from a box marked 96
melt in our palms
and we laugh
Coloring outside the lines
Seeing beauty in the art
of pulling at the seams
of this life
Creating moments
Connecting the dots
Like constellations in our air
This is our masterpiece
This is what we call home


Battle Worn

Somewhere in the crux of my silence
Was the hope we could
Tell jokes about high school insecurities
Make sarcastic remarks
That only served to
Bring us closer
Because we’ve built tough skin
Around playful wounds
Watching people we love
Unlove themselves
So we gave all we had
To war veterans
Home from battle
We called them parents
We called them lovers
We called them lots things
Other than broken
But now we’re carrying their scars
And playing their games
Fighting their battles
in the crux of our silence
While telling jokes about high school insecurities
Making sarcastic remarks
That only serves to unlove ourselves

And one another

Sound Off

Laid out like a paraplegic


Everybody can tell me what’s supposed to happen.

How I should feel

Just keep quiet. Just keep moving the sound bites around and look down at the sidewalk. Keep your head. Hold your emotions. In.

Everybody can tell me what’s supposed to happen.

Everybody can tell me that love comes and goes.

That you’re special and this is just a thing.

That life is ever changing and things can be unpredictable.

Predict these.

Predict this.

See why I’m stuck in a paradigm.

This shift.

This movement of non sense.

Shut down


It all stopped.

All I really want to do is scream

and be heard.

It all stopped.

I can take the silence.

I can deal with the heavy lips with too much rage to speak.

I can exist in this place of limbo and languish

As long as I know

I will walk again.

Seek and Destroy

I just want to talk. I don’t need to touch you, not in that way. I’m a deviant. My goal is to creep silently inside places you’ve long forgotten existed. I won’t be subtle about it. You’ll know that’s where I’m headed and you’ll quietly, gently, beg me to keep going. Because you want to be known. You think you want to be touched and you’re right. But this touch has no palms. It has no fingertips or goosebumps. It has the sickest, most sadistic addiction that turns air into moans and words into time. We call it interest. And once it’s present, and you see how much of it I have, solely for you, you’ll lay back to be sought. And, destroyed.