The Traveler's Wife

Your tainted fingertips

I remember the feeling of being wrapped in recycled hands

And being kissed by used lips

Tasting the leftover luster

Of her powered foundation

She must not have been close to perfect 

I can still remember the taste of her chap stick lips

So I only have 1 question?

Was I the affair?

Like toddler chants

That 1st is the worst 

2nd is the best

Or was I only 2nd best 

To the best you ever had

Me taking the traits of had 

as if I was past 

But you met me in the present

So what do you answer when she asks you

If another girl walked past would look back

Or never break lock with her iris’ that held the fear

Of you staring in them only to catch a glimpse of my reflection?

What do you answer to her?

Or am I the one being broken?

Was my love not enough to remain for the ride?

Stay I’ll buy you another token

Show you I’m worth it

Just to have you stay in my arms

Recycled tainted finger tips or not

I need you

I’m lonely

I'm feeling kind of weak because I know

I’m not the only 

I can hear the whispers of her sexuality

That she left on your earlobes tonight

And I can hear her kisses 

In your mid-night breathes

The moans you created when you caressed another woman’s breast

I can feel her presence

As she separates us in bed

This space between us is foreign to me

So when you whisper baby

Are you reminiscing on the sound of her voice

or are you speaking to me

So I see I am the broken

Cause the curves of your body in bed

Don’t match perfectly to my topography anymore

She must not poke her back out when she sleeps

Or have her face nestled in the space between your neck

It’s like the landscape in your body i created has been re-arranged

I must have missed the quake that

Reformed you

No longer resembling my Pangaea

She invited you to invade new land that sea men (semen)

were not accustomed to

I guess you got excited by your new treasures

That you forgot who sheltered you

I worked to hard to watch this relationship

Sail away

And I’m not a desperate woman

But I know this is just a phase

And that pyrite and gold look very much the same

Don’t fall over her plateaus and waterfalls

When I’m sitting right here asking for you to love me….

And you know that when I say baby

There's no mans voice

On which reminiscing

So please stop traveling.

Your motherland misses you.

 

This poem is about: 
My family

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741