who I would allow
to call me a liar

– for I am and you know it
and all I ever wanted of your love
was to be known by it –

this is the truth:
I will never know
if it will be enough

– we score our ledgers hopelessly
and guard our ink
cowards hidden in impermanence
reservists to the war of our hearts
scornful and outside the ring –

to have been loved by you
I’m certain it was not enough
for you
to have been loved by me

– yet still I hope you knew
that every sentiment of love
I uttered with my truthless tongue
was taken by my tearing teeth –

I pierced my flesh and flayed
myself down to the bone
loving you as every beat of
blood pulsed out of me
the sticky carmine mess
of love like lies and
lies like love

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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