Poems by Lauren Bowman

Just tell me you don’t love me;
I can live with that.
I can acknowledge an ending when I see a period
firmly in place,
but you won’t do that, will you?
No, you’ll let me down easy.
You’ll hold my hand, and look into my eyes,
and use one of those continuing lines,
I want you, but…

Don’t you know that but stands like a door
without a handle?
But looks like fresh cut flowers we pretend
aren’t already dying.
But feels like the false hope you hand me before
you walk away. 

It’s difficult to take in the entirety of something
when you are standing inside of it.
Valleys are best seen from peaks.
Mountains from their bases.
The ocean from the shore.
Perhaps this is why we rely on other’s eyes
to see ourselves clearly.
Perhaps this is why we struggle to wholly view
who we are.