LOVE POEM #88 – Hotel Stop / Through the Wall

Hotel Stop / Through the Wall


It started with a tap,

light and fast, like a rat in the wall,

followed by a whispered echo

asking for an answer we both knew

should never have been yes.


Yet I tapped back,

slow and uncertain, thinking that maybe

it had just been her shuffling around

while the TV blared in the background,

and then came the knock on my hotel door.



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How many poems till she realize she matters?
How many poems till she escape this disaster?
How long till she makes her defection?
Stands up for herself
And fights for her own protection?

Get the impression
That all the rejection
Normalized his affection
And led to her concession,

But I’m
The only one with objections.
The only one with obsessions
The only one with confessions.
The only one with depression.

So where in the world
Were all those processions
That told the girl she’d be saved
By divine ascension?

It was a lie.
It was a lie!

Saying when pig would fly
Was like waiting for goodbye.
Told the world I loved her
And her rivers ran dry.

So goodbye.




Hello there!


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Il pleut

The rain is falling



A cascade of raindrops

Pour down from me tonight.

There’s no inkling to stop;

There’s no end in sight.


There’s no twilight moon,

No sun and no stars.

No flowers begging to bloom.

No streets for busy cars.


Mais il pleut encore.


The hearth has no fire,

The table is not set,

There is no bed to retire

From the cold and the wet.


All I have left is an empty couch,

An empty crib, and an empty house.

And an echo back to happy days

Which have trapped me in this mental maze.


Mais il pleut encore.


I can still see my daughter’s smile

By the grass, in the sun;

My wife resting on the tile

With her hair in a bun.


But like the sky they have faded to gray

And I am plagued with anguish:

The fact that they were taken away

‘Cause they spoke another language.


Et il pleut encore.



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His right leg was twitching. Beating up and down like a drummer in the middle of his solo. But he was stuck on a bench waiting. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out at half past ten and rising. The birds were chirping, the children were playing, the air was crisp, and the grass seemed greener than usual. Yet he looked as if he were sitting in a dark room.

He had been there for two hours. Sitting, waiting, wishing. Hoping that she would show up. He let his mind wander to the dentist, to his classes, to his family, and back around. He’d look at the children playing happily and smile. But if anyone looked a bit closer, they would see the pain hidden behind that smile. The sense of worthlessness that had hardened itself inside. A sense that himself tried to hide away in drinks, parties, and friends. Yet nobody ever seemed to look that closely. They just saw the smile, and thought he was ok.

He stayed through the sunshine and into the starlight, until the happy cries of children had turned to the empty silence filled only by the chirp of crickets. Until finally a gust of wind pushed him to his feet, and he realized the time. With a cool, clean breath of the night air, he began his walk home. He passed by happy couples, warm houses, and smiling teenagers, until he finally got to his flat. He ascended the stairs, focused hard at the ground so as to not think about the let down he had experienced again. He numbed himself to the pain, until he could stand to face himself in the mirror.

He checked his phone. No new messages. No calls. No friends. He felt so alone. He tossed his shirt to the hamper, and left his pants on the floor, and decided to shower. The water was like the warm embrace he had hoped for. He let it drown his senses. The steam built up and cleared his lungs. He cried. First it was small dribbles, then in heavy heaves. He sunk to the ground, legs crossed, and waited. The water poured down on him for what seemed like hours. Until he felt the heat run away and the chill set in. He got up, shut the water off, and got out. It was time to get up again.


Life was good, until They showed up. I never saw it coming. Love is such an unexpected feeling. It caught me off guard. One day we had been forced into a group in class. The next, we were texting, tagging each other in silly pictures, and giggling on the walk to class. I asked them to dinner one morning, and They looked at me curiously. I can still remember their face so well. They had eyes with total uncertainty for a moment, then a smile crept to their face.

“Sure,” they had said—and I got excited. I had thought things were finally progressing, after months of waiting. The dinner was lovely—we went to a classy Italian food place in downtown, just a few miles away from the school with both went to. They looked absolutely radiant—dressed in all black. We laughed and smiled and joked for hours. All through the breadsticks, the brucheta, the main course—we both had ordered pasta, and finally a dessert we shared. We split the check, which I had never done with a partner before. But, I had thought, we both valued each other equally, so the unexpected became something I cherished. We embraced for a hug at the end of the night before parting ways.

It had been such a nice date—at least, I thought it had been a date. But a few dinners later and the sweetness grew sour. I had gotten a bit too excited. Too proud. Too courageous. At the end of each dinner we hugged for a moment longer than usual. I looked into their eyes, searching for permission. I quickly leaned in to kiss them—just a quick peck, to test the waters. I stepped back sheepishly and waved goodbye. They looked shocked, which I had hoped meant a good thing. But the next day, things seemed a bit off. They seemed reserved. I asked them what was wrong.

“People don’t kiss me,” They said. We were walking to class, down an empty hallway. It was cool indoors, but not cold by any means. I stopped and looked them in the eyes. They looked so empty and lost. I stepped forward to hug them, but their arms did not embrace me as they had before. Instead, they put a hand on my chest, and pushed a space between us.

At least, that is what I had thought it was for. We stayed there for a while, talking. My arms fell to my sides, but their hand stayed on my chest—holding me in place. Their hand was so warm, like it were against my skin. In fact, it was on my skin. Then, the most horrifying thing happened.

Their fingers stiffened, and she pressed them hard against my chest. So hard. It felt like knives. It burned. I felt my skin peeling apart, being sliced by their sharp nails. The skin turned to muscle, and the muscle to bone as they buried beneath. Layers of self-doubt, of pain and hatred, were all stripped away, as they drilled into me. I could feel my heart racing. I looked them in the eye. They were still smiling, still talking—though I knew not what they said anymore. Their fingers found my chest plate, and stopped for a moment. I could feel their index finger dance along it, looking for a way through. I was breathing heavily. My heart was pounding like a drum. They looked at me again. I felt their hand curl into a fist inside me. Their left arm moved to my shoulder to steady me, and they punched through my chest plate.

The bone shattered, like glass from a bullet, leaving my heart alone as it beat quicker and quicker. Blood was dripping onto the hallway floor now, in little droplets like the tears that streamed down my face. They gripped my heart. It was chilling to feel a hand feel it beat. They caressed it for a moment, before tightening their grip. My heart struggled, beating wildly for a moment, before they tore it from its housing and out of my body. My shoulder’s slumped, and they watched me drop to the floor. My knees hit the ground first, stopping my decent for an instant. There was no pain. Blood poured from my chest to the floor, and the pool engulfed my whole body. I felt my face hit the ground a moment later, but my eyes were to filled with tears to see anything. As darkness set in, I could hear them walk down the hall, the Click-clack of their shoes echoed around me. Then, it was all gone.