My Funerals with Him's

For some reason I keep dying for men that don’t die for me.

First I was dying to meet him, I had already met him, I just didn’t know it was him.

Then I was dying to talk to him,

dying to find commonalities beyond physicalities, beyond superficial breaths,

Then I was dying to exchange numbers without making the entire situation go down hill

Didn’t want to seem too desperate, so maybe he can be desperate first?

Then I was dying to hear what he likes in a woman, to see if I’m that woman.

Then dying to kiss him

dying to get his next text, his next call

dying to find the perfect outfit he can see me in.

I’m dying for the 30 minute train ride to hurry the fuck up cause I need to see him.

dying to see if his touch feels like prince charming finally found me outside of fairy tales and novelas.

To see if he makes the retina in my eyes degrade and deteriorate, affecting the perception of finding any other male worth my attention.

Waiting to see if he finds value in my worth.

Then I was dying to see if he still wants me after I tell him why I have broken pieces still missing.

Waiting to see if he listens or he likes to hear the sound of his voice bounce over mine more.

Waiting to see if he tells me he is willing to live with my written-in-stone-disabilities.

Then I was dying to form a relationship

dying to do “relationship things”

 first hold hands in public

 cuddle in bed, dying to see how ‘I love you’ crawls from out his tonsils onto gravity, making love with my eardrums.

Then I was dying to count the first month-aversary

Dying to write them down in my calendar.

I was dying to first meet his family,

-nah I lied about that, that shit makes me wrap myself under my skin making a cocoon out of myself- 

Then I was dying to see if the family found some value in my worth.

I'm always waiting to see if my worth is valuable.

Then I was dying to feel it,

the moment you are spooning,

the one you can’t return from,

when two people fall in love.

Then 

I was dying to have our first argument, dying to see if we could take it.

Then dying for the arguments to end.

Dying to feel better again, to be lovey dovey again.

Then I was dying to have our first anniversary.

 Then dying to feel alive with him again.

Then we broke up

Then I was dying to forget him

dying to stop crying in showers,

dying to stop listening to silence scream his name every time the moon rises, and the sun dies. I was tired of dying.

Then I was dying to get my dignity back and stop contacting him.

dying to make my humiliation forget him.

I died so many times with these ‘him’s’, I forgot to live my moments.

I forgot what it was like to live

I forgot how life was like without them

I died every time.

And now I am dying again.

Dying to recover.

By Denisse Cotto AKA Poet Nissy