Wednesday, June 23, 2021


My addiction,
Your predeliction
Created fiction
And endless friction.

No other muse
Could I choose
To see me through
Perpetual blues.

But I wouldn't do.
And you?
You couldn't make due.
Wouldn't. This shit's on you.

Allow these words
To properly serve
From me to you
This temporary adieu;

My visibility
No longer gives a fuck
About your fragility.
© @haleybcu, 5 AM on June 9th, 2021

Wednesday, June 2, 2021


Dear NotShakespeare,
I'm sick of writing books for you.
To you. About you.
I'm revolted by my prose,
Nauseated by my poems, &
Vexed by my text.
You're the fucking worst,
& I love you
More than most.
© @haleybcu, May 27th, 2021

Weight To Admit

You admitted
To dreaming about
My apartment
"all the time."
An intentionally
Cautious statement.
Implying your lack
Of comfort with
Simply stating
You've been dreaming
About me.

But you have.
Admitedly so.
Admitted to me
While I anxiously hung
On your words
Reading your face
Trying not to say
"The wrong thing."

Five years ago
I remarked
part of the magic
of our bond
Was sitting atop
Mt. Friendship
While judging
the serfs.

Your expression soured
As you stated plainly,
"I'm not judgmental."
And the corner of your mouth
Quirked up.
Before you laughed
Wide and honest.
A moment etched
Deep in my mind.

When I called you yesterday,
I thought I waited long enough.
Because too long
Would be equally as treacherous.
I didn't "Princess you"
Spoke openly
While not admitting how much
I needed your brain
To help unscramble
My own.

I knew I'd said too much
When I hung up
Which is why I waited
4 fucking years
To try the first time.

"You're exactly what
You're supposed to be -
Which is a beautiful,
Twisted work in progress."

"I'll never cut you off like she did."

"You're my best friend."

You've said so much
Meant so little
And in the end,
I can only say this;

You have no idea
The weight off my shoulders
You removed
By taking my book.