'I dream you,' 'I have hated,' and 'In the beginning,'

I dream you
standing naked
on the steps.

You're watching
deer disappear into the woods
across the glen.

I know you want to follow them.
I want you to turn and come to me.
I want you in my bed.

I know you won't.
It's okay. I want to disappear
into those woods, too.

I have hated,
in my lifetime,
mirrors, and voices,
demanding.

I've hated
how I've withdrawn
when talked down to,
the way I've laughed
and belittled
my own scars.

And I hate
that I've run out of time
to do it all again.

In the beginning,
all my little poems
were suicide notes.
Five thousand pages,
one long suicide note.

And then,
the middle period.
Ten thousand pages,
ten thousand poems,
every single one
stating not so subtly
I want to fuck you.

But now,
the third Era,
the evolution,
an inevitability,
where all I can say is
I love you, goodbye.
I love you, goodbye.
It's the end of the world,
I love you,
goodbye.