Poets is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
When you are as lonely as this, every month smells
of her skin. Choose one, any one—February, August,
like a vending machine, cards in a deck, you can never
come all the way back. The whole damn calendar is
soaked in her. When you are as lonely as this, noon
& midnight both hold the false assumption of innocence.
There was always an object, there was always light, they
were always here the whole time you were threatening
to forgive yourself, singing very quietly, slightly off-key:
surprise, surprise, she never loved you anyway. When you
are as lonely as this, there comes a point at which your
only wish is to grow a little lonelier. At this point, if you
walk down the road, all you will find is the moment you
didn’t look back. The moment when she would have killed
or lived for you & you kept walking anyway. Such a
pointless & brutal landscape as love deserves a song like
that. Make up a new month, decorate it with more angels
or less mouths. Go away for a long time & try hard as you
can to forget the smell of her skin, wreathed into ball-
point pens, the screen door never fully closed. Something
in the dark owes you for the time you’ve made up, a debt
you will never collect, a consolation prize. Without her,
it’s a miracle how things never seem to collide into other
things. It’s a miracle how quiet this place remains.