What’s Left

I am terrible at writing break up poems
Because clean ends scare me
Like dystopian movies.
I don’t know how tell you that
we are like anxious breaths
And an exhale
Is not always followed by an inhale.

You liked those horror films-
Women on an end screen

In a pale white room
But I
Never had the stomach for it.
You are no exception to the rule
That I am eternally terrified
Of having nothing
Left to give.
Of leaving on the note
Of taking a part of you
For only a temporary piece
Of myself.
On our first date
You gave me popcorn
And I gave you a movie ticket
But from there you have outnumbered me
With gifts
When I was not keeping score.

So here-
Please take with you every voicemail I left

And every squeeze to your shoulder
I had to give you
But know
That this is not a beginning.

By Sierra Kruse