I hear your voice in the soft mumble of strangers in a coffee shop,
In the swoosh of a car zooming by on the interstate,
In the rumble of a thunderstorm off in the distance,
In the rhythm of unfamiliar songs playing on the radio.
I feel the sharp edge of your tongue as you lash out at me;
For the way a long day at work stressed you out,
For the things I said at times I should’ve stayed quiet,
For the way a stranger stared at me for too long in a grocery store.
I see your face on the walls that my shadow skims across,
In the darkened eyes of my own reflectionin the bathroom mirror,
In the reflection of car headlights on the pitch black road,
In the rippled waves that toss around on a restless moonlit river.
I see the tightness in your jaw as your frustration boils up,
Because I’m crying on the bathroom floor and you hate that,
Because I flinch at your movements and you’d “never hurt me,”
Because I didn’t walk on eggshells light enough and made a mess.
I feel your touch in the way the wind beats against my body,
In the subtle vibrations of an upbeat rock song,
In that cold, eerie feeling that graces this abandoned house,
In the way a new lover runs his fingers through my hair.
I feel your presence like the weight of sorrow following death,
Like when you grabbed my wrist to take away my phone,
Like when you held your face in front of mine and screamed,
Like when you slammed your fists into the walls of our broken home.
How cruel of you to haunt me in the safety of my own mind.
Fire & Female 