i was never good at writing poems

i always knew the details
but never made plans
scared that you may laugh
about

how i knew my lingerie would be black
but my wedding dress white
that our baby
would have your eyes
that our used car
would always leave us stranded
and our house, somehow, would have plants

i would write you a story
with the details of our never future lives
we would dance to the end of love
before we collapsed

but my hands were broken
and i was just too sad

i meant to draw you pictures
that would become alive
by the delicate folding of a paper

i would write, somehow
somehow i would stop the madness
and somehow endure it

we would buy new sheets in which to tell our story
your hand going up my thighs

i always knew the details
that would make us fine
but never quite figured out the plan



and im sorry


"scared" keeps looking like a scar