First Love
You glorious heartfuckerupper,
you manic-depressive 6-year fever,
you tornado trail across my heart –
you fucker –
the thought of you
makes me hiccup with laughter
while I am heaving my grief
over other men.
When I am violently emptying myself
into pages, watching
my brain firings manifest
in desperate crooked scribblings,
I am tickled, elated even,
that your name is not among them.
Years and lovers later,
I am still shocked silly
to feel so deeply about someone
who is not you.
You Heartbreak Original
among very convincing knockoffs –
you existential attachment crisis calibration,
you, the first person
I would never stop loving,
you – the space carved in me
that can hold him now,
the scar who reminds me
of my homemade sutures,
you – the reminder
of what I can heal myself from.